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Michigan Weather and Women: Part 4 Finding real love, at last. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. Driving home the next day felt like waking up from some kind of dream until I pulled into our driveway and Munchkin came running out to greet me. As I was getting out to reassure him that he hadn't been abandoned, the reality of my life settled right back in. I went inside, and Lane and Mary grunted their hellos without looking up. Ah, home. I texted Erin that I made it back safely, and she replied almost immediately saying what a great night she had, and how much she missed me already. It was going to be a long three weeks until she rotated back to the hospital in Petoskey. Luckily, life was as busy as always, and time flew by. For the first time since I was a child, I could honestly say that I was happy. My happiness lasted until the day before Erin was scheduled to return. I got my first inkling that something might be wrong when I called to see if Wilma wanted me to pick up any groceries for her from town. She didn't answer, which was strange, and the call went to voicemail. Even if she was napping, she was a very light sleeper and would normally answer by the third ring. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I went straight to Wilma's to make sure she was alright. Everything seemed fine when I pulled into the yard, but there was no answer when I knocked on her door. I tried again, but there was nothing but an eerie silence. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the spare key from its hiding place and went inside. I called Wilma's name and, hearing no reply, went quickly through the house trying to find her. When I got to her bedroom, I could hear a low moaning sound from the attached washroom. I ran in and found Wilma collapsed by the bathtub. She had slipped and hit her head, injuring her hip and arm in the process. She didn't have her phone with her when she fell and had been unable to move, so who knows how long she had been lying there. I called 911 for an ambulance and then called Erin and suggested that she meet us at the hospital. It took forever for the paramedics to arrive, and longer still to get Wilma loaded into the ambulance. By the time I got to the hospital, she was already being triaged by their emergency team. I took a few minutes while I waited for an update on Wilma's condition to call the rest of the family and give them the news. Alison came directly to the hospital after class, and Sharon brought Mary and Lane as soon as they got home from school. Erin arrived a few hours later and broke down when she saw me. Finally, just after nine, the doctors gave Erin an update. Wilma was in rough shape; she was badly dehydrated and had a moderate concussion, a fractured wrist, and a bone bruise on her hip. It would take her weeks to recover in the hospital. The good news was that she would make a recovery, given enough time and support. Erin and Mary decided to stay with Wilma in the hospital while Sharon dropped Alison at her dorm and drove Lane back to the house. By midnight, Mary had nodded off in a chair in the corner of Wilma's room, while I waited outside with Erin. "You should go home, Davis. There's nothing else you can do tonight. Thank God, you found her; I am not sure what I would have done if you hadn't. I already lost Grampy; I am not ready to lose Gran as well. They are all I have." I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her close. "You have me, now, too. And the girls. And you know Lane would do anything for you, you just need to ask. I was serious about what I said in Grand Rapids, Erin. I love you." Erin pulled me closer but didn't reply. The following week was a rollercoaster of emotions. Wilma was improving far quicker than the doctors had anticipated, but she would still be in rehab for at least another two weeks. It was impossible to hide Wilma's accident from the rest of the family, and they descended on the hospital like vultures; or, more accurately, their lawyers descended on the hospital while, for the most part, they stayed far away where it was warm. The one exception was Erin's stepfather, who flew in the next day. "For Christ's sake, Erin. Haven't you done enough harm as it is? Do you want your Gran to die alone on the floor of that dingy old shack of hers? It's time for her to move into a care facility that can look after her. Be reasonable!" When he failed to persuade Erin to act on his behalf, his attorneys requested an emergency court order, alleging that Wilma lacked the capacity to make her own medical decisions, that Erin was not acting in her best interests, and that one of Wilma's children should be appointed as her legal guardian. Wilma was furious when she learned of his actions, but there was little she could do to stop him until she was discharged from the hospital. Both sides knew that her doctor's recommendation would hold a lot of weight with the judge, and it was not good news for Wilma when it came. "If Mrs. Anderson is to return home, she will require around-the-clock care and company. If such care can't be arranged, then I recommend that she be placed in a long-term assisted-living facility that can treat any lingering effects from her fall, and from her late-stage cancer." Erin took the news like a physical blow, and she staggered backward to a chair. We didn't have the resources for 24-hour nursing, and it would be impossible to arrange it with such short notice even if we did. "I'm sorry, Davis. I need to be alone for a while to think." She left without looking back or saying goodbye to Wilma, and I just let her go. I wanted to ease her pain, but I knew that there was nothing I could do. She had lost, and her family had won. I was despondent as I made my way towards the exit, so much so that I nearly ran into Alison who was finishing up her shift at the hospital. "You look terrible, Brother, what happened? Is Wilma alright?" I explained to her about the doctor's recommendation and Erin's reaction. "No one has had the heart to tell Wilma, yet. She's recovered from the fall, but this news is going to kill her." Alison looked at me for a minute, before her mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "I'll do it." "What do you mean? "I'll do it. I'll look after Wilma. I am wrapping up my clinical practicum tomorrow, and I was planning on working this summer. I will look after Wilma instead. Mary can move in with us as well, and I can teach her what she needs to know to care for her when I'm not there. Once her school year is done in June, she and I can spell each other off, and I can still pick up some shifts here and there." It was an amazing offer, but I couldn't let her do it. "Alison, I can't ask you to give up your job for the summer. You need that money for your living expenses at school." "You're not asking; I'm offering. And since you've paid for my tuition so far, I am debt-free and can take out a loan to cover my last term." "I didn't cover the tuition, it was your;" "Davis. Really? Our mother, who never met a five-dollar bill she couldn't snort or inject, left me a college fund? Please. I am not an idiot. I love you, Big Brother, and I love what you have done for me and the others, but it's my time to step up now as well. Let me do this." I felt a heaviness lift from my chest as I hugged Alison and lifted her off her feet. I tried to reach Erin to let her know about Alison's offer, but I drove to her apartment, and she wasn't there, and she must have turned her phone off. I figured she must have gone to Wilma's, so I headed that way. I pulled in just as the sun was setting and found her SUV parked in the laneway, crosshatched by the lengthening shadows of the trees. I parked and saw a lone figure at the end of the dock, still wearing her scrubs. I could see whitecaps on the waves as they smashed into the dock, and I knew she must be freezing, so I grabbed my jacket out of the back of the truck and went to join her. The footing was treacherous, with patches of ice hidden by the gloom and spray, but I made my way carefully to Erin and wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned back against me. "Am I doing the right thing, Davis? Gran could have died. She would have died if not for you. Can we risk that happening again? Am I just holding on to the past?" When she was finished, Erin lapsed into silence. "You are doing what Wilma asked you to do. I know your stepfather says that she isn't mentally competent, but I tell you, if she's not mentally competent then none of us are." "But it doesn't make a difference anymore. You heard what the doctor said, and I can't go against her recommendation." "You don't have to, Erin. Alison has offered to move in with Wilma to look after her, and she will teach Mary to look after her as well. Between the two of them, Wilma can stay in the house until the fall, at least, and then we can see." Erin turned towards me in her excitement but lost her footing on the slippery dock and fell backward into the water, pulling me with her. Now, in the summer, that kind of accident might be cause for some laughter and an embarrassing story around the dinner table. In late April, however, spending any time in the frigid waters of Lake Michigan could rapidly prove fatal. The shock from the cold when Erin hit the water caused her to gasp involuntarily, and she took in a mouthful. I had a half-second longer to prepare myself and managed to keep my mouth closed as I submerged, but I could immediately feel the cold in my extremities. The ladder that would normally have been at the end of the dock had been taken out for the winter, so we had no choice but to make for shore. Time compressed as I struggled to pull us through the water while Erin coughed and vomited. Finally, we dragged ourselves onto the shore, wet and shivering. I felt clumsy and weak from the cold, and my clothes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I wrapped my arm around Erin's waist, and we started stumbling toward the house. By the time we got there, we were both shivering uncontrollably and my hands were numb from the cold. I knew we needed to get warm, but it was like my brain was in a fog and I couldn't get my limbs to move the way they were supposed to. So, I did the first thing that came to mind, and started feeding paper and kindling into the fireplace, while Erin went to the linen closet and grabbed a stack of towels. She stripped off her wet scrubs while I got the fire started, and then she helped me get undressed as well. When I felt a little feeling return to my fingers, I fed a larger log onto the fire and then went and got a large comforter which I wrapped around us as we shivered in front of the fire. Eventually, our shivering subsided as our bodies warmed up, and Erin laid her head back against my chest. "I'm not ready for her to go. I'm not ready to be all alone again." "You're not alone anymore; not unless you want to be. I love you, Erin." I felt her relax back against me. "I love you too, Davis, and I'm sorry." "For what?" "For pulling you into the lake like a dumbass; fuck, that was cold." Chapter 6. Wilma's family insisted on taking their emergency petition to court, over Wilma's continued objections, but once the judge learned that Alison, a trained nurse, was going to be staying with her, their decision was an easy one. And let me tell you, Wilma's mind was still sharp as ever, and she made it clear both to her doctors and, eventually, to her family and the judge, that she wanted to go home. Erin's stepfather was beside himself with anger after they lost the hearing. "Why do you insist on delaying the inevitable like this? Wilma is dying. We know it, she knows it, the doctors know it. You're the only one who won't accept it. She would get better care in a facility with real nurses here in town, rather than relying on a student, a little girl, and whatever time you can give her at home. The next time she has a crisis maybe we won't get so lucky, and it will be on your head." Outwardly, Erin looked as smooth and unbothered as glass as her stepfather screamed at her, but her hand was squeezing mine so hard that I thought she might break a bone. Luckily, before I could say anything to make matters worse, Wilma intervened. "What is it that makes you so damn sure that you know what's best for everyone else? You're right, I'm dying. There is nothing that anyone can do about that. If I happen to fall again and speed the process along, so be it. But don't you dare pretend that you care one iota about my health or happiness, or your stepdaughter's happiness for that matter. The only thing you care about is getting your wife's inheritance faster. Is your business doing so badly that you can't wait until I die? It seemed like she had scored a direct hit, as his face turned solid red as he started to stammer out a response, but she dismissed him before he could even begin. "Now go away and leave us in peace. You will be back here for my funeral soon enough, and no one wants you hovering around, hoping to speed it up." A week later, Wilma was released from the hospital, and we brought her back home. Alison moved in right away, along with Munchkin, and Mary soon followed. On most days, James would come by to pick Mary up for school and then drop her back afterward. Alison stayed with Wilma during the day, and Mary covered most of the evenings. Erin came by to help whenever she could, and I did my best to keep them stocked with supplies. It wasn't perfect, but it worked and, more importantly, it made Wilma happy. She didn't talk much about her cancer, but it was clear that it was getting worse. Mary noticed that she was eating less and resting more and that she had begun to take her pain pills in the morning as well as in the evening before she went to bed. Wilma was still adamant that she wanted to stay in her home, however, and continued to teach Mary all she could about art and life. In early June, I had stopped by to visit Wilma and the girls late in the afternoon and I was still there when James dropped Mary off from school. He escorted her into the house but then stood awkwardly in the entranceway rather than leaving. "Mr. Crawford, could we talk for a minute, if you have the time?" I shook my head in amusement. No matter how many times I told him to just call me Davis, Mr. Crawford, I remained. "Sure, I was just finishing up with Wilma," I replied as I gave Wilma a gentle hug. She felt more like a bird at that point than a person, just skin hanging on fragile bones held together by her indomitable will. James looked worried as we went outside. "This may not be any of my business, but yesterday, when I got home from school, Calum and my dad were on a conference call with some officials from the county and Wilma's son and one of her granddaughters, the lawyer. I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but they were on speaker, and it was loud enough that I could hear them in the kitchen. "They were saying that when Wilma dies, her estate is being divided up equally amongst all of the children and grandchildren, but there is a part of the will that states that the land by the lake can't be sold or developed. From the sounds of it, however, once Wilma is gone, the county is going to seize that land, using eminent domain, to create a public boat launch, since Wilma's dock is the only four-season dock for at least ten miles in either direction. They will fix it up and then sell the rest of the land to the McDougals for development. "So, Wilma's family will get their money when the county forces the sale, and the McDougals will get their land. The only person left who might make a fuss would be Erin, but they figure she will fall in line once she sees the big fat check from the county." Listening to James' story made my blood boil. I hated the kinds of rich pricks who used their money and their purchased politicians to run roughshod over the rest of us. I just wasn't sure if there was anything that we could do to stop them. I thanked James for the heads up and went to speak with Wilma once he left. I expected Wilma to be as filled with rage at her family's treachery as I was, but she seemed remarkably calm about the whole thing. "Thank you for sharing this with me and thank James for his candor. He must have been deeply conflicted between his loyalty to his family, and his desire to do the right thing. Now, as to what we are going to do about this, we are going to do nothing. I don't want you to mention this to Erin or Mary, it will just worry them and make them upset. And you have more important things to do than to rage against a bunch of duplicitous assholes. Leave this one with me. "Now, why don't you go outside, take that shirt off, and start chopping some wood or something equally manly? Erin will be here soon, and you know how she likes to see you when you have worked up a sweat." I didn't know exactly what Wilma had planned, but for the next few days, she spent a lot of time on the phone. Towards the end of June, a very well-dressed older man in a tailored suit was leaving her house just as I was pulling in. It was clear that he had been there before since Munchkin ignored him and came over to give me an enthusiastic greeting instead. The man gave me a friendly smile as he put his briefcase in his top-of-the-line Lexus SUV before walking over to introduce himself. "Brantford Sage," he said holding out his hand. "You must be Mr. Crawford. Wilma has told me a lot about you. With everything she said, I was kind of expecting you to be seven feet tall and wearing a cape." I laughed at the image. "It's nice that she thinks so highly of me, but she gives me too much credit. And please call me Davis." "Well, Davis, and please call me Brantford, I have known Wilma for more years than you have been alive, and I have never heard her talk about anyone the way that she talks about you, except for Phillip, of course. And we all know how she felt about Phillip." I knew that it was none of my business why Mr. Sage was visiting Wilma, but my desire to protect her overrode any hesitation on my part about speaking out. "I am sorry if it's rude of me to ask, Mr. Sage, but what is your business here with Wilma? As you may know, her own family, along with a local family of some prominence, have been waging a campaign to get Wilma to sell this land. You are not here on their behalf, are you?" "I can assure you, Davis, that I am only here as a favor to Wilma. I normally split my time between our offices in Detroit, New York, and London, but when Wilma calls, I make it a priority to answer. I am sorry that I can't say more about my business here, attorney-client privilege, but you can ask her yourself if you would like." "It's all good. Wilma is still sharp as a tack, and even if she has lost a step or two, she is still twice as smart and four times as wise as I will ever be." "Well, I should be going. But sadly, I am sure I will see you again, soon enough." By the end of the summer, it was clear that Wilma's adventures were almost done. When she worked with Mary, she would often fall asleep in the comfortable chair in the corner. She had never had a large appetite, but recently, it had dwindled almost to nothing. Erin was very worried and suggested that it was time to move her Gran into hospice, but Wilma wouldn't hear of it. "This house has been my home for more than 60 years; I am not going to leave it now. It would miss me too much, and I can't have my home pining away over me. There is nothing more depressing than a sad home." Even Munchkin, the dog with boundless energy, became more subdued and often sat a quiet watch over Wilma while she slept. Finally, on the last Sunday of August, I got the call I had been dreading. I could hear Mary's voice on the other end of the line, holding back tears. "Gran says she's too tired and it's time to stop fighting. She told me to call you and Erin, and ask you to come;" I could hear the sobs building in her as she spoke, "to say goodbye." "Is James there with you, Mary?" "I called him. He's on his way." "I will call Erin and then go and pick her up. She won't be in any condition to drive." I figured the odds of there being a speed trap on the highway to Petoskey before 7 AM on a Sunday were slim to none, so I made it to Erin's apartment in record time. She must have been watching for me out of her window, as she threw herself into my arms before I was fully out of the truck. "I am so sorry, Honey," was all I could say, and I just held her in silence until the waves of grief that wracked her body had subsided. "We should get going," I said, not knowing what else to say. Maybe I should have told her that "Everything would be alright," but I suspected that it would be a while before that was true. But that was okay. People grieve in their own time. Erin held my hand tightly as we started the drive to Wilma's. "Why don't you tell me some of your favorite memories with your Gran and Grampy?" Erin remained silent for a few minutes, but once she started talking, the floodgates opened wide. She told me about the first time that her parents dropped her at the airport when she was only seven. How scared she was of these strange older people she didn't know. Phillip had seen her fear, and rather than trying to comfort her; how do you comfort a child whose parents have abandoned them; he had taken her for a long walk down by the lake. She remembered the sound of the wind blowing off the lake, as Phillip told her stories about their past. She remembered the summers she spent with Gran and Grampy as a teen. By that point, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, and her parents wanted to show her off to their important friends in Europe and places further afield. But she had already chosen to spend her time with the people that she loved. She spoke of coming to see them when she was in college. Of the awful year that Phillip got sick, and her grief at his passing. She said that her parents came to Good Hart for the funeral, but it felt like she and Gran were the only people to truly grieve his loss. She fell silent as we pulled into Wilma's laneway. "Go and see your Gran. Let me know what you need, Honey. I am here for you." Despite her grief, Erin looked at me as she took my hand. "What about you? What do you need, Davis? You love her too." "People show their love in different ways. I never really got the chance to give or receive love as a child, at least not in the way that most of us think of it. But being with you has made me realize something important about myself; I take care of the people I love. So, let me take care of you, Mary, and Wilma, one final time." By that point, Mary and Munchkin had come outside. Mary's eyes were red, and you could see the tracks that her tears had left on her cheeks. I got out of the truck and just held her for a minute. Erin came up behind me and enveloped her as well. Munchkin, mourning in his own way, stood watch for us, keeping us safe as we grieved. "Mary, you don't have to be here for the end if it's too hard. You can say goodbye, then take the truck and go and meet James. We can let you know when it's over." She just shook her head. "Where is she?" Mary led us into the living room. The wisp that remained of Wilma was in the comfortable chair by the fire. She had been a very small woman when we met less than a year before, but now she looked almost ethereal. Like the wind could slip right through her collecting her stories as it passed. She beckoned me over with one of her curled hands. "Davis, I am glad that you're here. I know I am a greedy old biddy, but I have three favors to ask, and I don't have a lot of time left to do the asking." "Of course, Wilma. You know I would do anything for you and Erin." She closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts. "The first favor is that I need some time alone with my girls. I am sure James will be here in a minute; he is a good boy, don't hold those assholes in his family against him. He loves our Mary. Go outside, and when he arrives, I want you to go down to the lake and set up the five Adirondack chairs, so they are all together and facing out over the water. Then come back up to me." "Of course, Wilma." I went outside and sat on the front steps, scratching Munchkin's ears as I waited. James pulled up less than ten minutes later and I explained what had happened, and Wilma's request. When we were finished at the lake, we walked back up to the house, with Munchkin following quietly on our heels. We let ourselves in and saw Wilma, Erin, and Mary pulled together in an embrace. I was hesitant to interrupt, but Wilma saw us and called us over. "There's your big, strong men. Girls, could you get some of the outdoor blankets for James to carry down to the lake for us? And Davis, my second favor is for you to carry me down to the lake one last time. Would the rest of you give us a few minutes before you follow?" I picked Wilma up from the chair and wrapped her in my arms. She felt almost weightless, but I saw hints of her mischievous smile as we started walking. "You know, the last time a man carried me like this, the journey ended very differently." I couldn't help but smile, even at the end Wilma was still quick with the teasing and innuendo. "I bet you wish it was that other man carrying you now," I joked in return, but Wilma just rested her head against my chest. "No. No, I don't, Davis. I will see that other man soon enough. I am well content to be here with you. I am so proud of you. You are such a good and faithful man. It is a lot to ask of you, but for my third favor, will you look after my girls when I am gone?" By that point, we had reached the shore, and I set Wilma down in the middle chair of the five. "You don't need to ask, Wilma. Of course, I will look after them. Because you asked it of me, and because I love them just like you do." Wilma smiled and reached out to take my hand while she pressed three small objects into my palm. I looked down and saw that she had removed her engagement and wedding rings and given them to me. They were joined by an almost identical wedding band that must have belonged to Phillip before he passed. "You will know when the time is right for these. I would have liked to have been there to see it, though. Through these rings, maybe Phillip and I can continue to be a small part of your love for each other, even once we're gone." James and the girls had started down the path to the lake and would reach us in a minute. Before they arrived, Wilma gave me a final serious look. "All hell is going to break loose when they read my will after the funeral. Be there for Erin, please. The mistakes I made with my children are all my fault, but Erin will be left to bear that weight for a little while longer once I'm gone. It would mean a lot to a dying woman to know that she won't have to carry that weight alone." "I'll share that weight with her, for as long as she needs. For as long as she will let me." Wilma patted my hand. "That's good. I love you, Davis, but I think it's time." Mary and Erin arrived with James, and they made sure that Wilma was bundled in warm blankets as she looked out over the lake. Mary and Erin sat on either side of her and held her hands, while James and I sat at the ends. Munchkin settled against Wilma's feet, to keep them warm. After a while, Wilma started talking. She told stories about her life with Phillip; how they met, when they first came to this place, building a home, and raising their family. She spoke of their success as artists, and their failures as parents. She spoke of her regrets but also about her deep love for Erin and Mary, and how much she appreciated what they had done for her. She paused for a moment as the wind began to pick up, but we heard her last words before the wind carried the rest away. "You are all artists, and you are all worthy of love." She fell silent, and we sat for a long while listening to the wind off the lake. Epilogue. As always, Wilma was right. The reading of her will did indeed set off a firestorm, but she had made sure that we were ready for it. Do you remember Mr. Sage, that man in the suit who came to visit Wilma not too long before she passed? It turns out that he wasn't just an old friend, he was also a named partner at the largest law firm in the state and one of the most powerful firms in the country. It seems that Phillip didn't just paint portraits for the richest family in the state (you would recognize their name from the hospitals, museums, and other cultural institutions where it is featured prominently), but he also became a close family friend. You would never have known it, though, since Phillip refused to even acknowledge their friendship in public so that he didn't inadvertently trade on their name. Mr. Sage was also a good friend of that family and, over the years, became close with Wilma and Phillip, as well. After James told Wilma his story, she called those old family friends and, for the first time in their long friendship, asked for their help. She would never have done so for her own benefit, but she couldn't bear to think that Phillip's legacy would be lost because of the greed and treachery of his children. Within a day, Mr. Sage was working on a solution to Wilma's problem, and everything was signed and sealed well before Wilma passed on. The day of the reading of the will would have been comic if it hadn't also been so tragic. In the weeks after Wilma's death, her remaining children and grandchildren had gathered to express their deep sadness at her passing. Many black outfits were worn, and many sad faces were made. Not surprisingly, the entire McDougal family also showed up both to the funeral and to the smaller gathering at Wilma's house afterward. James stood with Mary, his arm around her shoulder, both to comfort her and to protect her from his own family, as best he could. The rest of the McDougal clan stood with Wilma's family and made sure to avail themselves of the free wine and hors d'oeuvres. As per her wishes, Wilma was cremated, and her ashes were scattered from the deck behind her house so that the wind could carry them towards the lake. Again, as per her wishes, the will was read immediately thereafter. The first surprise of the day came when Mr. Sage, who everyone thought was there merely to express his condolences at Wilma's passing, informed the family lawyers that the will in their possession had been revoked earlier that year. Both Wilma's family and their lawyers began to protest until the man formally introduced himself as a named partner at Sage, Bentley, and Carstairs, and as the new executor of Wilma's estate. The second surprise was the size and extent of that estate. The property by the lake was considerably larger than anyone had known and included a number of additional houses and cottages that Wilma and Phillip had acquired over the years. Unlike the previous will, however, that had left an equal share of the land to each of Wilma's descendants, the new one protected the entire property, in perpetuity, as part of a land trust that was established for the benefit and use of artists, local residents and even the Fudgies, when summer came to the lower peninsula. As part of the land trust, the dock was to be extended and reinforced and a public boat landing and park were to be built and maintained on the land, again, in perpetuity. Erin and I were named as trustees of the land trust, along with Mr. Sage and Mary, when she came of age. Given Michigan's strict laws around the use of eminent domain for private gain, there was no chance that the McDougals and the county would be able to move forward with their plans to seize the land. The third and final surprise was that Wilma and Phillip had done much better with the sale of their art and with their investments over the years than anyone had thought or expected. In addition to the property that was now in the trust, they had amassed a fortune in the low eight figures. Most of that money was left to manage the land trust, but a not inconsiderable amount was set aside to fund the college education of my brother and sisters and to pay off Erin's considerable student debt from medical school. The will also stipulated that the estate would pay for any costs that Wilma's family had incurred to attend the funeral (with receipts, of course.) Wilma's paintings were left to the public gallery in Grand Rapids and galleries further afield, with a few notable exceptions. Mary was given three paintings of her choice from the collection, that weren't otherwise named in the will. After much thought and consideration, she chose both the first and last works that Wilma had painted, both of which had been hanging in the living room, along with a small study of the house that Wilma kept in her bedroom beside a picture of Phillip and her on their wedding day. Erin was given Phillip's portrait of her as a young woman, and that portrait still hangs above our mantelpiece alongside his portrait of Wilma as a young woman, which she left to me. The only time they left our mantelpiece was when they were featured in a retrospective exhibit of their work at a museum in New York, but the house felt strangely empty when they were gone. Erin's family was furious at the changes in the new will. They threatened to fight it with every resource at their disposal. They tried every dirty trick they could think of, questioning Wilma's mental capacity in the months before her death, fighting the legality of the land trust, and trying to impugn our characters implying that we were gold diggers who wormed our way into Wilma's life to steal the family inheritance. In the end, though, the family's lawyers were no match for Brantford and his firm. When none of their ploys worked, Erin's family and the McDougals turned on each other, and the ensuing lawsuits are still ongoing to this day. I would love to say that that was the end of the McDougals, or that Erin's family came around in the end. Unfortunately, they are still just as terrible as ever. But at least their arrogance and corruption are now far enough away that we can safely ignore them. On a similar note, my mother is still absent from our lives. I don't honestly know if she is even still alive, although I assume that someone would have tried to find her next of kin if she had died. Sometimes, I am charitable and hope that she managed to face her demons and turn what's left of her life around. But most of the time, I am just glad that she is no longer able to hurt the people I love. After things settled down, Alison finished her schooling and became a nurse practitioner, as she had always dreamed of. In her last year of study, while she was doing a clinical practicum at a hospital in Detroit, she met a lovely internist who fell madly in love with her. Luckily for him, his feelings were reciprocated, and they are now married and living in Grand Rapids. They split their holidays between our family and her husband's family in Detroit, and they stay with us for a few weeks each summer. Their son is as thick as thieves with our daughter, and their imagination carries them through endless adventures together. Sharon was successful in her ambition to leave the peninsula and see more of the world. She finished her undergraduate degree in creative writing in Chicago before setting out to see the world, and she is still out there wandering. But she sends us lots of pictures when she gets the chance, and recently, Erin noticed that many of her pictures have the same very attractive woman smiling in the background. I think it was probably a coincidence, but Erin thinks otherwise. I sure hope Erin's right. There is nothing I want more than for my family to find love and happiness. When the spirit moves her to come home to us (with or without her friend), she will be very welcome. Mary spent months grieving her loss, but rather than turning inward, she channeled her emotions into a triptych of paintings that firmly established her as an upcoming talent in the world of art. She lived with us for several years until James proposed, at which point they moved into one of the cottages owned by the trust. Unfortunately, James' family found out that he told Wilma about their plans, and they disowned him. He had a few tough years, but Mary helped him through, and when he turned eighteen, I took him on as an apprentice. He now runs one of my crews. I used to worry that he loved Mary more than she loved him and that the imbalance would lead to heartache. My worries were put to rest when she painted her first portrait. James was her subject, and I have never seen a painting more suffused with love and desire. A few years later, a collector offered her an eye-watering amount of money for it, but she politely declined. As for Lane, well who knows what he will do with his life, but he is carrying a 4.0 GPA, and the world is his oyster. He was sure impressed by the lawyers who rained hellfire down on the McDougals, though, so I suspect that he might be leaning that way in the future. He is also building quite a following as a DJ, combining classics from the 40's and 50's with new beats. He recently started dating a new girl, and she is a real sweetheart. We haven't told her about the day that he met Erin for the first time; yet. But trust me, that time will come. But until it does, Lane is more than happy to keep up with his chores and help out around the house. But what he loves more than anything is to carry his rod out to the end of the dock and fish, while the wind off the lake plays through his hair. And then there is Erin and me. I have to say that things have worked out pretty well for us, in the end. It took less than a year for me to make use of Wilma's last gifts, and Erin and I were married the next summer in the new park down by the dock. Wilma left her house and a few acres of land to Erin, separate from the land trust, and we spent several years fixing it up and expanding it so that my brother and sisters know that there is always a place for them if they need it; for a day, a week, or a lifetime. I am still not the best at taking orders or following instructions; but gentle requests from the woman that I love, sealed with a kiss on my cheek? It turns out that I am more than fine with those. And I am still not always sure what a beautiful doctor sees in a plumber like me. But rather than let my insecurity get the better of me, I have learned to accept my good fortune with a smile. One tradition that we've adopted as our own is that we make time to dance together every Friday night. If we have guests, or family who are home, they know that they will be joining us as well; Wilma's 'no wallflowers' rule is still in full effect. Now that she is old enough, I am teaching our daughter to dance, and her favorite thing in the world is to twirl around the living room in her mommy and daddy's arms. Some nights, when it's just the three of us and our daughter has gone to bed, we let the soft crackle of Wilma's old 45s take us back. We dance together with the lights down low, the music threading through the quiet night like a whisper from the past. And when the music fades, we hold each other close and listen to the voices of those we have loved, as they linger in the wind off the lake. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 4 Finding real love, at last. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. Driving home the next day felt like waking up from some kind of dream until I pulled into our driveway and Munchkin came running out to greet me. As I was getting out to reassure him that he hadn't been abandoned, the reality of my life settled right back in. I went inside, and Lane and Mary grunted their hellos without looking up. Ah, home. I texted Erin that I made it back safely, and she replied almost immediately saying what a great night she had, and how much she missed me already. It was going to be a long three weeks until she rotated back to the hospital in Petoskey. Luckily, life was as busy as always, and time flew by. For the first time since I was a child, I could honestly say that I was happy. My happiness lasted until the day before Erin was scheduled to return. I got my first inkling that something might be wrong when I called to see if Wilma wanted me to pick up any groceries for her from town. She didn't answer, which was strange, and the call went to voicemail. Even if she was napping, she was a very light sleeper and would normally answer by the third ring. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I went straight to Wilma's to make sure she was alright. Everything seemed fine when I pulled into the yard, but there was no answer when I knocked on her door. I tried again, but there was nothing but an eerie silence. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the spare key from its hiding place and went inside. I called Wilma's name and, hearing no reply, went quickly through the house trying to find her. When I got to her bedroom, I could hear a low moaning sound from the attached washroom. I ran in and found Wilma collapsed by the bathtub. She had slipped and hit her head, injuring her hip and arm in the process. She didn't have her phone with her when she fell and had been unable to move, so who knows how long she had been lying there. I called 911 for an ambulance and then called Erin and suggested that she meet us at the hospital. It took forever for the paramedics to arrive, and longer still to get Wilma loaded into the ambulance. By the time I got to the hospital, she was already being triaged by their emergency team. I took a few minutes while I waited for an update on Wilma's condition to call the rest of the family and give them the news. Alison came directly to the hospital after class, and Sharon brought Mary and Lane as soon as they got home from school. Erin arrived a few hours later and broke down when she saw me. Finally, just after nine, the doctors gave Erin an update. Wilma was in rough shape; she was badly dehydrated and had a moderate concussion, a fractured wrist, and a bone bruise on her hip. It would take her weeks to recover in the hospital. The good news was that she would make a recovery, given enough time and support. Erin and Mary decided to stay with Wilma in the hospital while Sharon dropped Alison at her dorm and drove Lane back to the house. By midnight, Mary had nodded off in a chair in the corner of Wilma's room, while I waited outside with Erin. "You should go home, Davis. There's nothing else you can do tonight. Thank God, you found her; I am not sure what I would have done if you hadn't. I already lost Grampy; I am not ready to lose Gran as well. They are all I have." I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her close. "You have me, now, too. And the girls. And you know Lane would do anything for you, you just need to ask. I was serious about what I said in Grand Rapids, Erin. I love you." Erin pulled me closer but didn't reply. The following week was a rollercoaster of emotions. Wilma was improving far quicker than the doctors had anticipated, but she would still be in rehab for at least another two weeks. It was impossible to hide Wilma's accident from the rest of the family, and they descended on the hospital like vultures; or, more accurately, their lawyers descended on the hospital while, for the most part, they stayed far away where it was warm. The one exception was Erin's stepfather, who flew in the next day. "For Christ's sake, Erin. Haven't you done enough harm as it is? Do you want your Gran to die alone on the floor of that dingy old shack of hers? It's time for her to move into a care facility that can look after her. Be reasonable!" When he failed to persuade Erin to act on his behalf, his attorneys requested an emergency court order, alleging that Wilma lacked the capacity to make her own medical decisions, that Erin was not acting in her best interests, and that one of Wilma's children should be appointed as her legal guardian. Wilma was furious when she learned of his actions, but there was little she could do to stop him until she was discharged from the hospital. Both sides knew that her doctor's recommendation would hold a lot of weight with the judge, and it was not good news for Wilma when it came. "If Mrs. Anderson is to return home, she will require around-the-clock care and company. If such care can't be arranged, then I recommend that she be placed in a long-term assisted-living facility that can treat any lingering effects from her fall, and from her late-stage cancer." Erin took the news like a physical blow, and she staggered backward to a chair. We didn't have the resources for 24-hour nursing, and it would be impossible to arrange it with such short notice even if we did. "I'm sorry, Davis. I need to be alone for a while to think." She left without looking back or saying goodbye to Wilma, and I just let her go. I wanted to ease her pain, but I knew that there was nothing I could do. She had lost, and her family had won. I was despondent as I made my way towards the exit, so much so that I nearly ran into Alison who was finishing up her shift at the hospital. "You look terrible, Brother, what happened? Is Wilma alright?" I explained to her about the doctor's recommendation and Erin's reaction. "No one has had the heart to tell Wilma, yet. She's recovered from the fall, but this news is going to kill her." Alison looked at me for a minute, before her mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "I'll do it." "What do you mean? "I'll do it. I'll look after Wilma. I am wrapping up my clinical practicum tomorrow, and I was planning on working this summer. I will look after Wilma instead. Mary can move in with us as well, and I can teach her what she needs to know to care for her when I'm not there. Once her school year is done in June, she and I can spell each other off, and I can still pick up some shifts here and there." It was an amazing offer, but I couldn't let her do it. "Alison, I can't ask you to give up your job for the summer. You need that money for your living expenses at school." "You're not asking; I'm offering. And since you've paid for my tuition so far, I am debt-free and can take out a loan to cover my last term." "I didn't cover the tuition, it was your;" "Davis. Really? Our mother, who never met a five-dollar bill she couldn't snort or inject, left me a college fund? Please. I am not an idiot. I love you, Big Brother, and I love what you have done for me and the others, but it's my time to step up now as well. Let me do this." I felt a heaviness lift from my chest as I hugged Alison and lifted her off her feet. I tried to reach Erin to let her know about Alison's offer, but I drove to her apartment, and she wasn't there, and she must have turned her phone off. I figured she must have gone to Wilma's, so I headed that way. I pulled in just as the sun was setting and found her SUV parked in the laneway, crosshatched by the lengthening shadows of the trees. I parked and saw a lone figure at the end of the dock, still wearing her scrubs. I could see whitecaps on the waves as they smashed into the dock, and I knew she must be freezing, so I grabbed my jacket out of the back of the truck and went to join her. The footing was treacherous, with patches of ice hidden by the gloom and spray, but I made my way carefully to Erin and wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned back against me. "Am I doing the right thing, Davis? Gran could have died. She would have died if not for you. Can we risk that happening again? Am I just holding on to the past?" When she was finished, Erin lapsed into silence. "You are doing what Wilma asked you to do. I know your stepfather says that she isn't mentally competent, but I tell you, if she's not mentally competent then none of us are." "But it doesn't make a difference anymore. You heard what the doctor said, and I can't go against her recommendation." "You don't have to, Erin. Alison has offered to move in with Wilma to look after her, and she will teach Mary to look after her as well. Between the two of them, Wilma can stay in the house until the fall, at least, and then we can see." Erin turned towards me in her excitement but lost her footing on the slippery dock and fell backward into the water, pulling me with her. Now, in the summer, that kind of accident might be cause for some laughter and an embarrassing story around the dinner table. In late April, however, spending any time in the frigid waters of Lake Michigan could rapidly prove fatal. The shock from the cold when Erin hit the water caused her to gasp involuntarily, and she took in a mouthful. I had a half-second longer to prepare myself and managed to keep my mouth closed as I submerged, but I could immediately feel the cold in my extremities. The ladder that would normally have been at the end of the dock had been taken out for the winter, so we had no choice but to make for shore. Time compressed as I struggled to pull us through the water while Erin coughed and vomited. Finally, we dragged ourselves onto the shore, wet and shivering. I felt clumsy and weak from the cold, and my clothes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I wrapped my arm around Erin's waist, and we started stumbling toward the house. By the time we got there, we were both shivering uncontrollably and my hands were numb from the cold. I knew we needed to get warm, but it was like my brain was in a fog and I couldn't get my limbs to move the way they were supposed to. So, I did the first thing that came to mind, and started feeding paper and kindling into the fireplace, while Erin went to the linen closet and grabbed a stack of towels. She stripped off her wet scrubs while I got the fire started, and then she helped me get undressed as well. When I felt a little feeling return to my fingers, I fed a larger log onto the fire and then went and got a large comforter which I wrapped around us as we shivered in front of the fire. Eventually, our shivering subsided as our bodies warmed up, and Erin laid her head back against my chest. "I'm not ready for her to go. I'm not ready to be all alone again." "You're not alone anymore; not unless you want to be. I love you, Erin." I felt her relax back against me. "I love you too, Davis, and I'm sorry." "For what?" "For pulling you into the lake like a dumbass; fuck, that was cold." Chapter 6. Wilma's family insisted on taking their emergency petition to court, over Wilma's continued objections, but once the judge learned that Alison, a trained nurse, was going to be staying with her, their decision was an easy one. And let me tell you, Wilma's mind was still sharp as ever, and she made it clear both to her doctors and, eventually, to her family and the judge, that she wanted to go home. Erin's stepfather was beside himself with anger after they lost the hearing. "Why do you insist on delaying the inevitable like this? Wilma is dying. We know it, she knows it, the doctors know it. You're the only one who won't accept it. She would get better care in a facility with real nurses here in town, rather than relying on a student, a little girl, and whatever time you can give her at home. The next time she has a crisis maybe we won't get so lucky, and it will be on your head." Outwardly, Erin looked as smooth and unbothered as glass as her stepfather screamed at her, but her hand was squeezing mine so hard that I thought she might break a bone. Luckily, before I could say anything to make matters worse, Wilma intervened. "What is it that makes you so damn sure that you know what's best for everyone else? You're right, I'm dying. There is nothing that anyone can do about that. If I happen to fall again and speed the process along, so be it. But don't you dare pretend that you care one iota about my health or happiness, or your stepdaughter's happiness for that matter. The only thing you care about is getting your wife's inheritance faster. Is your business doing so badly that you can't wait until I die? It seemed like she had scored a direct hit, as his face turned solid red as he started to stammer out a response, but she dismissed him before he could even begin. "Now go away and leave us in peace. You will be back here for my funeral soon enough, and no one wants you hovering around, hoping to speed it up." A week later, Wilma was released from the hospital, and we brought her back home. Alison moved in right away, along with Munchkin, and Mary soon followed. On most days, James would come by to pick Mary up for school and then drop her back afterward. Alison stayed with Wilma during the day, and Mary covered most of the evenings. Erin came by to help whenever she could, and I did my best to keep them stocked with supplies. It wasn't perfect, but it worked and, more importantly, it made Wilma happy. She didn't talk much about her cancer, but it was clear that it was getting worse. Mary noticed that she was eating less and resting more and that she had begun to take her pain pills in the morning as well as in the evening before she went to bed. Wilma was still adamant that she wanted to stay in her home, however, and continued to teach Mary all she could about art and life. In early June, I had stopped by to visit Wilma and the girls late in the afternoon and I was still there when James dropped Mary off from school. He escorted her into the house but then stood awkwardly in the entranceway rather than leaving. "Mr. Crawford, could we talk for a minute, if you have the time?" I shook my head in amusement. No matter how many times I told him to just call me Davis, Mr. Crawford, I remained. "Sure, I was just finishing up with Wilma," I replied as I gave Wilma a gentle hug. She felt more like a bird at that point than a person, just skin hanging on fragile bones held together by her indomitable will. James looked worried as we went outside. "This may not be any of my business, but yesterday, when I got home from school, Calum and my dad were on a conference call with some officials from the county and Wilma's son and one of her granddaughters, the lawyer. I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but they were on speaker, and it was loud enough that I could hear them in the kitchen. "They were saying that when Wilma dies, her estate is being divided up equally amongst all of the children and grandchildren, but there is a part of the will that states that the land by the lake can't be sold or developed. From the sounds of it, however, once Wilma is gone, the county is going to seize that land, using eminent domain, to create a public boat launch, since Wilma's dock is the only four-season dock for at least ten miles in either direction. They will fix it up and then sell the rest of the land to the McDougals for development. "So, Wilma's family will get their money when the county forces the sale, and the McDougals will get their land. The only person left who might make a fuss would be Erin, but they figure she will fall in line once she sees the big fat check from the county." Listening to James' story made my blood boil. I hated the kinds of rich pricks who used their money and their purchased politicians to run roughshod over the rest of us. I just wasn't sure if there was anything that we could do to stop them. I thanked James for the heads up and went to speak with Wilma once he left. I expected Wilma to be as filled with rage at her family's treachery as I was, but she seemed remarkably calm about the whole thing. "Thank you for sharing this with me and thank James for his candor. He must have been deeply conflicted between his loyalty to his family, and his desire to do the right thing. Now, as to what we are going to do about this, we are going to do nothing. I don't want you to mention this to Erin or Mary, it will just worry them and make them upset. And you have more important things to do than to rage against a bunch of duplicitous assholes. Leave this one with me. "Now, why don't you go outside, take that shirt off, and start chopping some wood or something equally manly? Erin will be here soon, and you know how she likes to see you when you have worked up a sweat." I didn't know exactly what Wilma had planned, but for the next few days, she spent a lot of time on the phone. Towards the end of June, a very well-dressed older man in a tailored suit was leaving her house just as I was pulling in. It was clear that he had been there before since Munchkin ignored him and came over to give me an enthusiastic greeting instead. The man gave me a friendly smile as he put his briefcase in his top-of-the-line Lexus SUV before walking over to introduce himself. "Brantford Sage," he said holding out his hand. "You must be Mr. Crawford. Wilma has told me a lot about you. With everything she said, I was kind of expecting you to be seven feet tall and wearing a cape." I laughed at the image. "It's nice that she thinks so highly of me, but she gives me too much credit. And please call me Davis." "Well, Davis, and please call me Brantford, I have known Wilma for more years than you have been alive, and I have never heard her talk about anyone the way that she talks about you, except for Phillip, of course. And we all know how she felt about Phillip." I knew that it was none of my business why Mr. Sage was visiting Wilma, but my desire to protect her overrode any hesitation on my part about speaking out. "I am sorry if it's rude of me to ask, Mr. Sage, but what is your business here with Wilma? As you may know, her own family, along with a local family of some prominence, have been waging a campaign to get Wilma to sell this land. You are not here on their behalf, are you?" "I can assure you, Davis, that I am only here as a favor to Wilma. I normally split my time between our offices in Detroit, New York, and London, but when Wilma calls, I make it a priority to answer. I am sorry that I can't say more about my business here, attorney-client privilege, but you can ask her yourself if you would like." "It's all good. Wilma is still sharp as a tack, and even if she has lost a step or two, she is still twice as smart and four times as wise as I will ever be." "Well, I should be going. But sadly, I am sure I will see you again, soon enough." By the end of the summer, it was clear that Wilma's adventures were almost done. When she worked with Mary, she would often fall asleep in the comfortable chair in the corner. She had never had a large appetite, but recently, it had dwindled almost to nothing. Erin was very worried and suggested that it was time to move her Gran into hospice, but Wilma wouldn't hear of it. "This house has been my home for more than 60 years; I am not going to leave it now. It would miss me too much, and I can't have my home pining away over me. There is nothing more depressing than a sad home." Even Munchkin, the dog with boundless energy, became more subdued and often sat a quiet watch over Wilma while she slept. Finally, on the last Sunday of August, I got the call I had been dreading. I could hear Mary's voice on the other end of the line, holding back tears. "Gran says she's too tired and it's time to stop fighting. She told me to call you and Erin, and ask you to come;" I could hear the sobs building in her as she spoke, "to say goodbye." "Is James there with you, Mary?" "I called him. He's on his way." "I will call Erin and then go and pick her up. She won't be in any condition to drive." I figured the odds of there being a speed trap on the highway to Petoskey before 7 AM on a Sunday were slim to none, so I made it to Erin's apartment in record time. She must have been watching for me out of her window, as she threw herself into my arms before I was fully out of the truck. "I am so sorry, Honey," was all I could say, and I just held her in silence until the waves of grief that wracked her body had subsided. "We should get going," I said, not knowing what else to say. Maybe I should have told her that "Everything would be alright," but I suspected that it would be a while before that was true. But that was okay. People grieve in their own time. Erin held my hand tightly as we started the drive to Wilma's. "Why don't you tell me some of your favorite memories with your Gran and Grampy?" Erin remained silent for a few minutes, but once she started talking, the floodgates opened wide. She told me about the first time that her parents dropped her at the airport when she was only seven. How scared she was of these strange older people she didn't know. Phillip had seen her fear, and rather than trying to comfort her; how do you comfort a child whose parents have abandoned them; he had taken her for a long walk down by the lake. She remembered the sound of the wind blowing off the lake, as Phillip told her stories about their past. She remembered the summers she spent with Gran and Grampy as a teen. By that point, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, and her parents wanted to show her off to their important friends in Europe and places further afield. But she had already chosen to spend her time with the people that she loved. She spoke of coming to see them when she was in college. Of the awful year that Phillip got sick, and her grief at his passing. She said that her parents came to Good Hart for the funeral, but it felt like she and Gran were the only people to truly grieve his loss. She fell silent as we pulled into Wilma's laneway. "Go and see your Gran. Let me know what you need, Honey. I am here for you." Despite her grief, Erin looked at me as she took my hand. "What about you? What do you need, Davis? You love her too." "People show their love in different ways. I never really got the chance to give or receive love as a child, at least not in the way that most of us think of it. But being with you has made me realize something important about myself; I take care of the people I love. So, let me take care of you, Mary, and Wilma, one final time." By that point, Mary and Munchkin had come outside. Mary's eyes were red, and you could see the tracks that her tears had left on her cheeks. I got out of the truck and just held her for a minute. Erin came up behind me and enveloped her as well. Munchkin, mourning in his own way, stood watch for us, keeping us safe as we grieved. "Mary, you don't have to be here for the end if it's too hard. You can say goodbye, then take the truck and go and meet James. We can let you know when it's over." She just shook her head. "Where is she?" Mary led us into the living room. The wisp that remained of Wilma was in the comfortable chair by the fire. She had been a very small woman when we met less than a year before, but now she looked almost ethereal. Like the wind could slip right through her collecting her stories as it passed. She beckoned me over with one of her curled hands. "Davis, I am glad that you're here. I know I am a greedy old biddy, but I have three favors to ask, and I don't have a lot of time left to do the asking." "Of course, Wilma. You know I would do anything for you and Erin." She closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts. "The first favor is that I need some time alone with my girls. I am sure James will be here in a minute; he is a good boy, don't hold those assholes in his family against him. He loves our Mary. Go outside, and when he arrives, I want you to go down to the lake and set up the five Adirondack chairs, so they are all together and facing out over the water. Then come back up to me." "Of course, Wilma." I went outside and sat on the front steps, scratching Munchkin's ears as I waited. James pulled up less than ten minutes later and I explained what had happened, and Wilma's request. When we were finished at the lake, we walked back up to the house, with Munchkin following quietly on our heels. We let ourselves in and saw Wilma, Erin, and Mary pulled together in an embrace. I was hesitant to interrupt, but Wilma saw us and called us over. "There's your big, strong men. Girls, could you get some of the outdoor blankets for James to carry down to the lake for us? And Davis, my second favor is for you to carry me down to the lake one last time. Would the rest of you give us a few minutes before you follow?" I picked Wilma up from the chair and wrapped her in my arms. She felt almost weightless, but I saw hints of her mischievous smile as we started walking. "You know, the last time a man carried me like this, the journey ended very differently." I couldn't help but smile, even at the end Wilma was still quick with the teasing and innuendo. "I bet you wish it was that other man carrying you now," I joked in return, but Wilma just rested her head against my chest. "No. No, I don't, Davis. I will see that other man soon enough. I am well content to be here with you. I am so proud of you. You are such a good and faithful man. It is a lot to ask of you, but for my third favor, will you look after my girls when I am gone?" By that point, we had reached the shore, and I set Wilma down in the middle chair of the five. "You don't need to ask, Wilma. Of course, I will look after them. Because you asked it of me, and because I love them just like you do." Wilma smiled and reached out to take my hand while she pressed three small objects into my palm. I looked down and saw that she had removed her engagement and wedding rings and given them to me. They were joined by an almost identical wedding band that must have belonged to Phillip before he passed. "You will know when the time is right for these. I would have liked to have been there to see it, though. Through these rings, maybe Phillip and I can continue to be a small part of your love for each other, even once we're gone." James and the girls had started down the path to the lake and would reach us in a minute. Before they arrived, Wilma gave me a final serious look. "All hell is going to break loose when they read my will after the funeral. Be there for Erin, please. The mistakes I made with my children are all my fault, but Erin will be left to bear that weight for a little while longer once I'm gone. It would mean a lot to a dying woman to know that she won't have to carry that weight alone." "I'll share that weight with her, for as long as she needs. For as long as she will let me." Wilma patted my hand. "That's good. I love you, Davis, but I think it's time." Mary and Erin arrived with James, and they made sure that Wilma was bundled in warm blankets as she looked out over the lake. Mary and Erin sat on either side of her and held her hands, while James and I sat at the ends. Munchkin settled against Wilma's feet, to keep them warm. After a while, Wilma started talking. She told stories about her life with Phillip; how they met, when they first came to this place, building a home, and raising their family. She spoke of their success as artists, and their failures as parents. She spoke of her regrets but also about her deep love for Erin and Mary, and how much she appreciated what they had done for her. She paused for a moment as the wind began to pick up, but we heard her last words before the wind carried the rest away. "You are all artists, and you are all worthy of love." She fell silent, and we sat for a long while listening to the wind off the lake. Epilogue. As always, Wilma was right. The reading of her will did indeed set off a firestorm, but she had made sure that we were ready for it. Do you remember Mr. Sage, that man in the suit who came to visit Wilma not too long before she passed? It turns out that he wasn't just an old friend, he was also a named partner at the largest law firm in the state and one of the most powerful firms in the country. It seems that Phillip didn't just paint portraits for the richest family in the state (you would recognize their name from the hospitals, museums, and other cultural institutions where it is featured prominently), but he also became a close family friend. You would never have known it, though, since Phillip refused to even acknowledge their friendship in public so that he didn't inadvertently trade on their name. Mr. Sage was also a good friend of that family and, over the years, became close with Wilma and Phillip, as well. After James told Wilma his story, she called those old family friends and, for the first time in their long friendship, asked for their help. She would never have done so for her own benefit, but she couldn't bear to think that Phillip's legacy would be lost because of the greed and treachery of his children. Within a day, Mr. Sage was working on a solution to Wilma's problem, and everything was signed and sealed well before Wilma passed on. The day of the reading of the will would have been comic if it hadn't also been so tragic. In the weeks after Wilma's death, her remaining children and grandchildren had gathered to express their deep sadness at her passing. Many black outfits were worn, and many sad faces were made. Not surprisingly, the entire McDougal family also showed up both to the funeral and to the smaller gathering at Wilma's house afterward. James stood with Mary, his arm around her shoulder, both to comfort her and to protect her from his own family, as best he could. The rest of the McDougal clan stood with Wilma's family and made sure to avail themselves of the free wine and hors d'oeuvres. As per her wishes, Wilma was cremated, and her ashes were scattered from the deck behind her house so that the wind could carry them towards the lake. Again, as per her wishes, the will was read immediately thereafter. The first surprise of the day came when Mr. Sage, who everyone thought was there merely to express his condolences at Wilma's passing, informed the family lawyers that the will in their possession had been revoked earlier that year. Both Wilma's family and their lawyers began to protest until the man formally introduced himself as a named partner at Sage, Bentley, and Carstairs, and as the new executor of Wilma's estate. The second surprise was the size and extent of that estate. The property by the lake was considerably larger than anyone had known and included a number of additional houses and cottages that Wilma and Phillip had acquired over the years. Unlike the previous will, however, that had left an equal share of the land to each of Wilma's descendants, the new one protected the entire property, in perpetuity, as part of a land trust that was established for the benefit and use of artists, local residents and even the Fudgies, when summer came to the lower peninsula. As part of the land trust, the dock was to be extended and reinforced and a public boat landing and park were to be built and maintained on the land, again, in perpetuity. Erin and I were named as trustees of the land trust, along with Mr. Sage and Mary, when she came of age. Given Michigan's strict laws around the use of eminent domain for private gain, there was no chance that the McDougals and the county would be able to move forward with their plans to seize the land. The third and final surprise was that Wilma and Phillip had done much better with the sale of their art and with their investments over the years than anyone had thought or expected. In addition to the property that was now in the trust, they had amassed a fortune in the low eight figures. Most of that money was left to manage the land trust, but a not inconsiderable amount was set aside to fund the college education of my brother and sisters and to pay off Erin's considerable student debt from medical school. The will also stipulated that the estate would pay for any costs that Wilma's family had incurred to attend the funeral (with receipts, of course.) Wilma's paintings were left to the public gallery in Grand Rapids and galleries further afield, with a few notable exceptions. Mary was given three paintings of her choice from the collection, that weren't otherwise named in the will. After much thought and consideration, she chose both the first and last works that Wilma had painted, both of which had been hanging in the living room, along with a small study of the house that Wilma kept in her bedroom beside a picture of Phillip and her on their wedding day. Erin was given Phillip's portrait of her as a young woman, and that portrait still hangs above our mantelpiece alongside his portrait of Wilma as a young woman, which she left to me. The only time they left our mantelpiece was when they were featured in a retrospective exhibit of their work at a museum in New York, but the house felt strangely empty when they were gone. Erin's family was furious at the changes in the new will. They threatened to fight it with every resource at their disposal. They tried every dirty trick they could think of, questioning Wilma's mental capacity in the months before her death, fighting the legality of the land trust, and trying to impugn our characters implying that we were gold diggers who wormed our way into Wilma's life to steal the family inheritance. In the end, though, the family's lawyers were no match for Brantford and his firm. When none of their ploys worked, Erin's family and the McDougals turned on each other, and the ensuing lawsuits are still ongoing to this day. I would love to say that that was the end of the McDougals, or that Erin's family came around in the end. Unfortunately, they are still just as terrible as ever. But at least their arrogance and corruption are now far enough away that we can safely ignore them. On a similar note, my mother is still absent from our lives. I don't honestly know if she is even still alive, although I assume that someone would have tried to find her next of kin if she had died. Sometimes, I am charitable and hope that she managed to face her demons and turn what's left of her life around. But most of the time, I am just glad that she is no longer able to hurt the people I love. After things settled down, Alison finished her schooling and became a nurse practitioner, as she had always dreamed of. In her last year of study, while she was doing a clinical practicum at a hospital in Detroit, she met a lovely internist who fell madly in love with her. Luckily for him, his feelings were reciprocated, and they are now married and living in Grand Rapids. They split their holidays between our family and her husband's family in Detroit, and they stay with us for a few weeks each summer. Their son is as thick as thieves with our daughter, and their imagination carries them through endless adventures together. Sharon was successful in her ambition to leave the peninsula and see more of the world. She finished her undergraduate degree in creative writing in Chicago before setting out to see the world, and she is still out there wandering. But she sends us lots of pictures when she gets the chance, and recently, Erin noticed that many of her pictures have the same very attractive woman smiling in the background. I think it was probably a coincidence, but Erin thinks otherwise. I sure hope Erin's right. There is nothing I want more than for my family to find love and happiness. When the spirit moves her to come home to us (with or without her friend), she will be very welcome. Mary spent months grieving her loss, but rather than turning inward, she channeled her emotions into a triptych of paintings that firmly established her as an upcoming talent in the world of art. She lived with us for several years until James proposed, at which point they moved into one of the cottages owned by the trust. Unfortunately, James' family found out that he told Wilma about their plans, and they disowned him. He had a few tough years, but Mary helped him through, and when he turned eighteen, I took him on as an apprentice. He now runs one of my crews. I used to worry that he loved Mary more than she loved him and that the imbalance would lead to heartache. My worries were put to rest when she painted her first portrait. James was her subject, and I have never seen a painting more suffused with love and desire. A few years later, a collector offered her an eye-watering amount of money for it, but she politely declined. As for Lane, well who knows what he will do with his life, but he is carrying a 4.0 GPA, and the world is his oyster. He was sure impressed by the lawyers who rained hellfire down on the McDougals, though, so I suspect that he might be leaning that way in the future. He is also building quite a following as a DJ, combining classics from the 40's and 50's with new beats. He recently started dating a new girl, and she is a real sweetheart. We haven't told her about the day that he met Erin for the first time; yet. But trust me, that time will come. But until it does, Lane is more than happy to keep up with his chores and help out around the house. But what he loves more than anything is to carry his rod out to the end of the dock and fish, while the wind off the lake plays through his hair. And then there is Erin and me. I have to say that things have worked out pretty well for us, in the end. It took less than a year for me to make use of Wilma's last gifts, and Erin and I were married the next summer in the new park down by the dock. Wilma left her house and a few acres of land to Erin, separate from the land trust, and we spent several years fixing it up and expanding it so that my brother and sisters know that there is always a place for them if they need it; for a day, a week, or a lifetime. I am still not the best at taking orders or following instructions; but gentle requests from the woman that I love, sealed with a kiss on my cheek? It turns out that I am more than fine with those. And I am still not always sure what a beautiful doctor sees in a plumber like me. But rather than let my insecurity get the better of me, I have learned to accept my good fortune with a smile. One tradition that we've adopted as our own is that we make time to dance together every Friday night. If we have guests, or family who are home, they know that they will be joining us as well; Wilma's 'no wallflowers' rule is still in full effect. Now that she is old enough, I am teaching our daughter to dance, and her favorite thing in the world is to twirl around the living room in her mommy and daddy's arms. Some nights, when it's just the three of us and our daughter has gone to bed, we let the soft crackle of Wilma's old 45s take us back. We dance together with the lights down low, the music threading through the quiet night like a whisper from the past. And when the music fades, we hold each other close and listen to the voices of those we have loved, as they linger in the wind off the lake. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 3 How did we ever get here? Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. "When I was fourteen, Mr. Johnson introduced me to a friend of his, Henry White, who was a master plumber. Henry was a high-functioning alcoholic whose temper had driven away all his old apprentices and journeymen. Luckily, I was always big for my age, and Mr. Johnson assured Henry that I was seventeen, turning eighteen in the next few months, so he took me on with the promise to make me an apprentice as soon as I was old enough. By the time that Henry learned my actual age, he had come to rely on me so much that he kept me on." "But what about school? Don't you need a high school diploma to become an apprentice?" "One good thing about growing up in a small town is that most people know the score. I made it to school when I could, and Henry and I worked a lot on the weekends, while Alison watched the rest of my siblings. Most of my teachers let me through with C's and D's, even though I must have missed half of my classes. Everyone knew that I was working with Henry and that I would need my high school diploma to become an apprentice, so they just kind of let me slip through. "I had well over 6,000 hours of experience plumbing before I even turned 18 and could formally become an apprentice. By that point, Henry was a significantly less functional alcoholic, and I was doing everything for his business; all the plumbing and all of the invoicing. He just signed off on the work. If anyone had ever looked into it, he could have gotten into real trouble, but we did smaller jobs for folks who didn't have a lot of money, so no one ever noticed or cared. "Just about the last thing that Henry did before he passed was to swear out my application to become a master plumber. Then one day I showed up for work, and he had died in his sleep. He didn't own much of anything, other than his tools, and he didn't have any family that I knew of, so I just kept on working." After a few minutes spent lying together in silence, I thought that Erin might have drifted off, but she had one more question for me before she did. "When did your mom leave?" I had never told anyone that part of my story; even my brother and sisters thought that Mom had just left one day, leaving me in charge. The reality was so much worse. "By the time Lane started school, Mom had already left us. Not physically, but in all the other ways that matter. She didn't work, and she regularly brought her 'boyfriends' back to our house to trade sex for drugs. Any support she got from social services went straight into her arm or up her nose. I was working long hours by then, to pay the rent and put food on the table, so sometimes that meant that Mary or my brother would be at home with Mom when I wasn't there. I knew it was playing with fire, but there was nothing I could do about it other than pray. "Normally, when I got home, I would blow my horn as I pulled into our drive and Lane would come running out to hug me and tell me about his day. So, I knew something was wrong when I came home late one evening, turned off my truck, and he still hadn't come out. I went inside, and Mom was sitting stoned in the living room watching TV. I asked where Lane was, and she just waved toward the back of the house. Alison and Sharon were out, so Mary and Lane were home with her by themselves. I found him in the room that we shared, cowering in the corner, with little Mary guarding the door. She was only eight at the time. "After a few minutes, I got Lane to tell me what was wrong, and he showed me his arm. Earlier, he had been in the kitchen and had bumped into Mom while she was cooking something on the stove. In a burst of rage, or maybe just evil, she grabbed his arm and held it against the burner. You can still see the scar on his arm today. "That was the end of it. I asked Mary to stay with Lane in our room, I packed Mom's things into the one suitcase we owned, and I drove her to the bus station. I bought her a ticket to Grand Rapids, gave her all the cash in my wallet, and waited with her until she boarded. I told her I would call the police if she ever came back. "Before she left, she spat on me and told me she wished I had never been born." I marveled at how flat my voice sounded, but to my surprise, my cheeks felt wet. I thought I had lost the ability to cry long ago. "Can you imagine that, abandoning your own mother? I'll probably burn in hell, but it was the only way I could think of to keep my brother and sisters safe. I haven't seen her since, although she used to call a couple of times a year asking for money. I didn't feel too bad about hanging up on her when she did, though, since she was still collecting family benefits for us all. Lane barely remembers her, which is likely a blessing, so I made up the story about Mom going away for the weekend and never coming back. "Since then, I have done what was needed for us to survive. When Alison finished school, she wanted to stay home to help look after the others, but I convinced her to go to college. I said that Mom had put aside some money for her tuition, but of course, that was a lie. I have been making the payments for her, but I wanted her to have the chance to just be young, for once. To get away from all of this, at least for a while." "But what about you, Davis?" "I don't matter." "Well, you matter to me." While I was speaking, Erin had wrapped both arms around me and was now holding me tight against her body. When I finished, my body was wracked by waves of uncontrollable grief, but she held me through it all. Eventually, as I started to calm down, she gave me gentle kisses on the nape of my neck and whispered to me in a soft voice. I don't remember what she said, but I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. The power came back on early the next morning, and Erin and I were the first people to wake up. She lay beside me with a small smile on her face. "You've had some hard times, Davis Crawford, but you have come out the other side. You're pretty amazing." I felt a sudden burst of both elation and fear as I returned her smile. "Thanks for listening and not judging me. I've never told anyone some of the things I shared with you." "It was my pleasure. Now let's get up and make some coffee." Looking out the window, the snowdrifts were over two feet high in places, but I knew they weren't going to get any lighter as the sun came out and they started to melt. "I am going to get started on the shoveling if you want to start on breakfast." Erin gave me a bemused look. "Or maybe, I am fully capable of shoveling snow, and we can get it done twice as fast by working together." A few minutes after we started, Lane came out to help. At one point, when Erin was on the other side of the yard, he started to speak. "I heard some of what you said to Erin last night. I never knew what Mom did to you, what you did to protect us. Thank you." "Ah, Bud. I never wanted you to worry. Mom wasn't well for a long time, and she made some terrible choices. But she's gone now, and you will always be safe with me." By the time we finished, we had worked ourselves into a lather, so I suggested to Wilma that she get a snow plowing service for the winter. She gave me a look that implied that somewhere there was a village searching for its idiot; and that idiot was me. "Oh, I have a service, but they take so long to come that they are useless if they bother to show up at all." Erin jumped into the conversation, looking pissed off. "It's part of my family and the McDougal's ongoing campaign to get Gran to move. I have told them how dangerous the game they are playing is, but they just don't seem to care." I thought for a minute, before walking a little ways away and making a call. When I returned, I had some good news for Wilma. "Go ahead and cancel your current service. If they aren't going to do the work, they shouldn't have a problem with not getting paid. I called an old friend of mine from school who runs a snow removal company out of Harbor Springs, who owes me a favor or nine. From now on, you will be at the top of his list." Erin and I texted just about every day between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and we talked most nights when she wasn't working. We were both insanely busy; Erin was providing pediatric coverage for two hospitals that were three hours apart, and I was working as much overtime as possible, to save up for Christmas. Some weeks, the only time we had to meet in person was Sunday afternoons at Wilma's. Mary, in turn, was flourishing under Wilma's guidance. It seemed like she was channeling her emotions into her art, and I began to see the kind and thoughtful sister reemerge that I thought I had lost forever. She wouldn't show me the painting she was working on, but Wilma said she was making good progress, and that was all I needed to know. As it got towards mid-December, our thoughts turned to Christmas. Since Wilma's family was still boycotting the holidays, we decided to have a joint celebration like at Thanksgiving. Erin was going to be working at the hospital in Petoskey on Christmas Day, but we promised to keep Wilma company and to bring her a Christmas meal that she could eat on her break. In typical fashion, she tried to convince us that she would be fine with cafeteria food, but we would hear nothing of it. When we got to Wilma's house for lunch on Christmas Day, she had stockings laid out by the fireplace with a present for each of us. Santa must have had a very healthy budget, because he brought Lane a new fishing rod, Mary a set of expensive paints and charcoals, Sharon a contribution to her college fund, and Alison a specialized nurse's bag with a personalized stethoscope. Rather than a present, my stocking came with a small envelope that contained a pair of tickets to the traveling production of "Moulin Rouge" that was playing in Grand Rapids in March. Although I was happy to get a present of any kind, Wilma must have seen my look of confusion at the choice. "I was talking to Santa, and he mentioned that Erin loves musicals. Phillip used to take her to them when she was younger. He would put on his best suit, and she would get all dolled up in a dress with some of my jewelry, and they would go out for a fancy dinner before the show and have a grand old time." I looked at her in amusement, before replying. "Well, it seems that Santa is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. But I will have to say thanks, next time I bump into him." Our present to Wilma came in three parts. First, we included her in our Christmas cookie exchange, and Mary even gave her a double portion of the chocolate chip cookies she had baked. Second, the five of us committed to helping her catch up on the yard work and house repairs that had fallen by the wayside since Phillip passed. And finally, we pledged to do everything in our power to make sure that she could stay in her house for as long as she was able. Wilma hugged and thanked each of us with tears in her eyes, then looked over at Mary. "Why don't you get your present for your brother." Mary went to the studio at the back of the house and brought back what looked like a small painting, wrapped in Christmas paper. "I wanted to make you something to say 'thank you' for everything you have done for us. And for not giving up on me." When I unwrapped the painting, I was stunned. It was very different from Phillip or Wilma's more realistic works and had vibrant streaks of paint that burst across the canvas, meeting, seemingly at random, in explosions of color. The entire piece was chaotic, except for a single corner that was shielded from the turmoil by a solid arc of paint that was the exact color of my eyes. After lunch, Mary and Sharon kept Wilma company while Alison, Lane, and I went to see Erin at the hospital. Things were pretty quiet, so she had time to sit and eat her dinner with us. While she ate, I showed her pictures from earlier in the day. She laughed at one, in particular, of Wilma with her arm around Mary while they were wearing festive paper hats from their Christmas crackers. "Thank you for taking such good care of Wilma, Davis. She would never admit it, but the holidays would have been very lonely for her this year without you. It means the world to me that you could be there for her." We chatted a bit longer before I pulled out my present for Erin. It was a small flat package which she opened slowly. Inside was a framed drawing of Wilma's house, as seen from the docks, as she looked out the picture window in her living room. "This is amazing, who made it?" "I used to draw quite a bit in school. Since Mary has been working with your Gran, I thought I might give it another try, and I particularly liked how this one turned out." "It's beautiful, Davis. Thank you." She started to blush as she glanced over at Lane, before she slid a card over to me, and whispered, "Maybe you should wait to open this until later when you're alone." Inside the card was Erin's two-part gift to me. First, an invitation to visit her in Grand Rapids, and second, a night for the two of us in a suite at a very nice hotel. New Year's Eve was even quieter than usual at our house. Erin was working in Grand Rapids and was on call that evening. I spoke with her earlier in the day, however, and wished her a Happy New Year, and we sent each other kissing emojis at midnight. The rest of us spent the night playing board games. The only real excitement came a few days earlier when Mary asked if she could invite a friend to join us. "And is this friend a boy, by chance?" As far as I knew, Mary had never had a boyfriend, so this was a new development. Mary didn't have to answer, since her blush did the talking for her. "Do we know this boy?" "It's; It's James McDougal. But he's not like his brothers. He's a good guy." I had my reservations about all of the McDougals, but I was willing to give him a chance. I had only met James that one time at his parent's house when I had gone to get Mary, and he seemed polite enough. But since he was a McDougal, he was starting with two strikes and was in danger of going down swinging. To give Mary credit, James passed the first boyfriend test before he even made it into the house. When he drove into the yard, Munchkin was the first to greet him. He wasn't growling or barking like he sometimes did, or showing his teeth, but he was plenty intimidating. James waited patiently for him to approach before carefully scratching behind his ears. After Mary came out to greet James, Munchkin decided he was alright and fell in behind them as they came inside. Just after midnight, as he was getting ready to leave, James took me aside. "I just wanted to say, sir, that I am sorry for what happened with Mary a few months back. I should never have brought her over to my house without your permission, and I should have brought her right back home once I saw that my brothers were home. I promise you, that despite my bad judgment, I would have made sure that nothing happened to her, and I won't ever make that mistake again." I had to admit that James was growing on me. Chapter 5. It wasn't long before Mary introduced James to Wilma. I had to work on a Sunday in early January, so he offered to drive her to Wilma's in my place. I could tell he was nervous, and he was wearing a nice, collared shirt with some clean jeans, under his winter jacket. By the time he brought Mary home, his shirt was soaked in sweat, and he looked a little like a young man returning from war. Later that week, I asked Wilma what she thought of him. "He seems like a nice, polite boy and he sure is besotted with our Mary. While Mary and I worked on her latest painting, he did some chores for me, including chopping and stacking the entire half cord of wood you dropped off last week. But he didn't complain, and he was still smiling at Mary when he was done, so I think he will do." Wilma's relationship with the rest of the McDougals, however, remained tense, and they made it clear to me that continuing to help her would come at a steep cost. I ran into Calum one evening at the grocery store and he made their position crystal clear. "We've got a big job coming up in Indian River that you might be interested in. Starts in a week, and it would keep you busy for the better part of the next year, solid. The job is yours if you want it." "What's this job going to cost me?" "It's yours, no strings attached. But you wouldn't have time to help old lady Anderson anymore. You know, and I know, that it's time for her to move on from that land. It's what her family wants and it's what's best for her. I am sure that doctor down in Petoskey would understand, I figure she must be tired of looking after that grandmother of hers all the time anyway. Think how much more time the two of you would have together if you were working a regular nine-to-five kind of job. "On the other hand, if you don't work with us on this project, my family is going to take it pretty hard. Hard enough that we might reach out to our friends and neighbors to let them know that you are not a team player and that they may not want to do business with you." There it was. They were threatening to ruin me if I didn't do what they wanted. I knew they couldn't cut off all of my business since there were too many people in the lower peninsula who had been screwed over by them in the past. But they could sure make things tough for me. I am really bad at taking orders, however, particularly from dickheads like Calum McDougal. Calum had a cynical smile as he walked away. He didn't value decency or loyalty, so I was sure he thought he had won me over. All he had done was harden my resolve. I felt honor-bound to reach out to my friend who was clearing Wilma's driveway, though, to let him know that he might get some heat from the McDougals. He was surprisingly poetic in his response. "Fuck those arrogant worm-drowners and the horses they rode in on." Valentine's Day was never a big deal for me. Over the years, I hadn't had time to date, and I wouldn't have had any money to do anything special if I did, so the Hallmark holiday passed me by without too much fuss or bother. I had hoped things might be different since I was with Erin, but she was on call at the hospital in Petoskey, and I was pushing hard on a large multi-unit build that was on a tight schedule, so I was working six or even seven days a week until it was done. My work hadn't completely dried up since my run-in with Calum, but it had certainly taken a hit, so I was not in a position to turn down jobs, no matter how inconvenient. My one consolation was I knew I would see Erin in a couple of weeks when I visited her in Grand Rapids for the show. I had some flowers delivered to her at the hospital anyway, to let her know that I was thinking of her. That earned me an emoji-filled text and an enthusiastic video call when she was done with her shift. As the date of the show got closer, I started to get anxious. I had never been to a live performance of anything, except the occasional high school assembly, and I worried that Erin would be disappointed in my lack of manners and refinement. Wilma noticed my growing nervousness and decided that I needed a pep talk. "Listen, Davis. Erin likes you for who you are. She doesn't need or want you to act like some slick yuppie from the big city." "I know, Wilma, but I don't even know what to wear. The nicest outfit I own is still just a collared shirt over a pair of jeans." "Hmm, I can help you with that. I still have some of Phillip's old suits and ties, let's take a look and see what might fit." Half an hour later, Wilma had picked out a heavier dark charcoal-colored suit, a lightweight linen suit suitable for warmer weather, and a dark grey suit with tight pinstripes for me to try on. She had some shirts for me, as well, from when Phillip was younger. "Phillip wore that pinstripe suit the first time that he took me to the movies. I'll never forget that night, he looked just like Cary Grant. If you bring these suits to the tailor in Indian River, he should be able to take in the jacket and hem the pants to fit you perfectly. A good tailor can make these suits look like they were cut just for you." I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I couldn't help but wonder if I would look funny in a decades-old suit. Wilma dismissed my concerns out of hand. "Let me tell you a little secret. If you buy a cheap suit, it will quickly begin to look tacky and dated. If you invest in a quality suit, it will age gracefully and become a timeless classic." Finally, Wilma selected a half dozen ties for me to try on and spent an hour teaching me how to tie a half-Windsor knot. "Get these suits altered, grab yourself a pair of polished black leather shoes, and you'll have those snooty pricks at the theatre thinking they are underdressed. And try to have fun. Erin loves the theatre, so if the two of you continue to fall in love, you will be going with her at least a couple of times a year, so you might as well enjoy it." I stood there in shock for a moment. "Do you really think Erin is falling in love with me?" "Well, yes, I do. And it's clear as daylight that you're in love with her too. But don't overthink things. Just go to the show and have a great night together. And here, take this with you as well," Wilma said handing me a navy blue pocket square with a distinctive paisley pattern. "Most men don't bother wearing a pocket square anymore, but I think they complete the look perfectly. You should wear this one on your date with Erin." Wilma took a final look at me and then slipped a twenty-dollar bill into my pocket. "That's for you to get a haircut before the show. Your normal 'shaggy mutt lost in a forest' look is adorable but not for your big date." The day of the performance approached with both aching slowness and relentless speed. We hadn't discussed it, but I knew (or at least strongly suspected) that Erin would have some expectations about how we spent our time together after the show. Unfortunately, I had no experience when it came to women other than a single kiss with Brittany Johnson back in my sophomore year of high school. I was terrified that I would disappoint her. To make matters worse, I had the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Grand Rapids to overthink things. By the time I arrived at Erin's apartment complex, I was a bit of a mess. My nerves were somewhat allayed, however, when Erin came running out to greet me with a huge smile on her face. "You made it! How was the drive? Wow, I love the haircut! I hope you're not too tired. I can't wait for tonight. I have been telling the girls all about you, and they are dying to see if the man lives up to the legend!" I guess Erin could see the sudden swell of anxiety on my face, so she took my hand. "Don't worry, the girls will love you, Davis. Why don't you grab your bag and come inside? I thought we could get changed here and then check in to the hotel before dinner and the show." Erin's housemates were really sweet, and the three of us chatted for at least an hour while Erin got ready before I excused myself to do the same. I put on Phillip's charcoal grey suit along with the crisp white shirt that Wilma had recommended. It took me four tries to tie my navy blue tie, but even I could tell that it made the colors in my paisley pocket square pop. Despite my nerves, I was still ready before Erin, so I rejoined her housemates in the living room while I waited. They kept sneaking glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking, so much so that I thought I must have done something wrong. Rather than second-guessing myself, I decided to take the bull by the horns and ask; better to be embarrassed in front of Erin's housemates than in front of her. "It's; it's not that you did anything wrong. It's just that you look; well, amazing; like an old-time movie star or something. Erin is going to swoon when she sees you." "You really think so?" I asked, still not sure of myself. Just then, I heard Erin's voice from behind me. "I'm sorry I took so long; we should head out before we're;" Erin went silent as I turned to look at her. She was wearing a floor-length emerald-green dress, which seemed to flow around her and mold to her curves, gathering delicately at her neck while leaving her back bare. Her sandy-blonde hair was styled in an elegant updo, while a few strands floated loose, framing her face. But, as always, what captured and held my gaze were her amber eyes, which danced and sparkled as she moved. My hands began to tremble, and I didn't trust myself to speak. "Do I look alright, Davis?" I took a deep breath that sent oxygen coursing through my body, as I found my voice. "I had no idea that anyone could look as beautiful as you do right now." Apparently, she liked my response, since her face broke into a wide grin. "You look mighty handsome yourself, Mister," she said while making a small adjustment to the knot of my tie. "Is that one of Grampy's suits? It looks amazing on you, and I love the tie and the; Oh; Oh, Davis. Is that Grampy's pocket square?" I could see tears forming in her eyes. "Wilma thought you might like it; that it might remind you of Phillip and the times he took you to the theatre when you were younger. I don't have to wear it, though, if you don't like it," I said reaching up to take it out of my pocket. Erin stopped my hand with hers, however, and then lightly ran her fingertips over the colorful square. "Gran was right. It reminds me of Grampy and now it will remind me of you. Please, I want you to wear it. For me." I felt a bit self-conscious pulling up to a fancy hotel in my ratty old truck, but it didn't seem to faze Erin in the least, so I decided not to worry about it. The suite she had booked was by far the nicest room of any kind that I had ever been in, but I tried not to seem like a country rube as I looked around. "Do you like it?" Erin asked a bit nervously, as she tried to gauge my reaction. "Honestly, I thought that rooms like this were just for celebrities and movie stars, and folks like that." "Normally that's the case, I guess, but for one night; tonight; it's ours." Dinner was lovely. I kept expecting people to see past my suit and realize that I was an imposter; just a plumber from the peninsula; not the kind of man who should be spending the evening with a woman like Erin. But she seemed to be having a wonderful time, so I began to relax. My anxiety was further abated when she leaned over the table and said in a low voice. "Jesus, the women in this place can't stop checking you out. I'm kind of wishing I had brought my bear spray now to keep them away. I need to excuse myself for a minute, but I wouldn't be surprised to find one of them trying to take my place when I get back." "Erin, I would never;" "I know, Darling. And frankly, they can look all they want because I know who you're going home with tonight." After that, I looked around the room with a new eye and noticed the subtle glances in my direction, and the shy smiles and blushes. I guess Phillip really did have good taste in suits. After dinner, we walked arm-in-arm to the performance hall, which was very impressive, with its soaring ceilings and plush velvet upholstery. Our seats were in a box on the right-hand side of the hall, which gave us a commanding view of the stage. As the lights went down, Erin took my hand in eager anticipation. I don't remember much about the performance that night; I spent more time watching Erin's childlike wonder than what was happening on the stage. Erin was still holding my hand at the intermission, and I felt a warm sense of contentment wash over me. "Oh, I forgot to mention, some of the largest donors to the hospital are hosting a reception after the performance. Would it be alright if we put in an appearance before we head back to our hotel?" I agreed without hesitation; a decision I would second guess before the night was over. It was close to 10:30 by the time the performance ended, and Erin held my arm, while resting her head on my shoulder, as we made our way through the hall to the reception. We each grabbed a drink, and we drifted through the small crowd until Erin was greeted warmly by a distinguished-looking older couple. Erin introduced them to me as the hosts of the reception, Mr. and Mrs. Wendel. "Please, just call us Tom and Martha. And you two make such a lovely couple. What do you do, Davis?" "I am a plumber, Ma'am," I replied, wondering how that news would be received by this obviously well-to-do couple, but I needn't have worried. "What kind of plumbing do you do?" Tom asked with genuine interest. "Mainly residential at this point, since I just got my master's license last year. A lot of the larger builders want to see some gray hairs on the heads of their skilled tradesmen, so right now, I am just doing what I can to pay the bills." "Amen, to that brother. I remember those days well. I started out, over 30 years ago now, as a dry Waller, and I spent more years than I care to remember doing whatever jobs I could get, just to get a foot in the door. It paid off for me in the end, though. Say, I am working on a development on the south side of town and was wondering;" Before Martha could stop him, Tom launched into a long and technical question about a challenge he was having with the plumbing for his new development. When I started an equally long and technical response, Erin kissed me on the cheek and whispered that Martha and she were going to go to the bar to get another drink. A few minutes later, I was still talking with Tom when a movement at the bar caught my eye. I looked more closely and saw that Erin was speaking with a tall, arrogant-looking man who kept trying to put his hand on her lower back, while she forcefully pushed it away. "My apologies, Tom, but could you give me a minute?" Without waiting for a reply, I walked over to where Erin was standing and slipped my arm around her waist, just as the man reached for her for a third time. "Hey, now," I said, trying to defuse the situation with a bit of humor. "At least buy me a drink before you make a move on me like that." His hand recoiled like it had been scalded, and his cheeks colored in anger. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from where I was standing. "Well, if it isn't the plumber," he said in a mocking tone. He must have been eavesdropping on my conversation with Tom, and he clearly wasn't impressed. "What did you think of the show this evening? Actually, that's hardly a fair question since you've probably never been to the theatre before. So, how about something more your level? I wonder what you would think of the bathrooms in my new penthouse. I am sure you would find them very impressive. I will give you a call the next time my toilet gets clogged, and you can come and check them out." He seemed very pleased with his insults, so he continued, a condescending grin on his face. "Anyway, Dr. Anderson, as I was saying, it was charitable of you to let the help see how the rest of us live, and I am sure he is having a good time and all, but it's past time for him to bring his daddy's suit home, don't you think? Why don't you leave him to it, and you and I can go have a drink? And then; who knows? I had dealt with people like this prick for my entire life. When you grow up with one abusive parent and no money, you get used to just about everyone feeling like they are better than you. There was nothing I could do about that, but I learned to use humor as a shield to protect myself and deflect attention. But sometimes humor just wasn't enough. And when humor failed, a more direct approach was called for. "You know, if you're trying to insult me, you're going to have to work a whole lot harder than that. But I doubt that hard work is something that you're too familiar with. I have been working since I was twelve to put food on the table for my brother and sisters. I have been a plumber since I was fourteen; by the time I was fifteen, I am sure I had already spent more time ankle-deep in shit than you've spent doing honest work in your entire life. "I didn't borrow this suit from my father because I don't know who my father is; that's right, I'm a bastard. But I am a bastard by circumstance and not by choice. I was born this way, what's your excuse? And since you asked, the suit I'm wearing belonged to Erin's grandfather, and you're right, I would never be able to afford a suit like this myself. But it's an honor to wear a suit that belonged to a man who loved Erin more than anything in this world. If I am really lucky, maybe she will let me love her just as deeply one day. "I may not know that much about musicals or the theatre, but anything that brings that much joy to Erin is more than fine in my books. So, I am going to continue to have a wonderful time with Erin this evening. Why wouldn't I? I am here with the most beautiful woman in the place, or;" I swept my gaze over to Martha, who was still standing beside Erin, "tied for the most beautiful, anyway." The man's face was now distorted with anger, and he took a step towards me. I stepped forward to meet him, my eyes never leaving his. Before, I had been speaking loudly for the benefit of those around us, but now I was speaking in a controlled voice, pitched for his ears alone. "You can say what you want about me, you prick. I have no respect for arrogant shitheels like you, so I just don't care. But before you ever think about putting your hands on Erin again, without her consent, you would do well to remember the Pipe Wrench Incident. "When I was fourteen, two of the men my mother was having sex with, in exchange for drugs, decided that my sister Alison should join in their fun. She was just nine years old. Luckily, I was home at the time, but I was just a kid, and they were fully grown men. When it was over, they were in the hospital, and I was cleaning my pipe wrench with some WD-40 and a rag." I looked him up and down once, dismissively. "Remember that story the next time you're tempted to touch someone I love." I turned to Tom who had come over to stand with Martha. "I'm sorry I interrupted your lovely event, and please don't hold my bad manners against Erin. I don't want to cause any more trouble, so maybe we should be on our way." Tom held up his hand indicating that we should stay. "Dr. Allen, you're drunk and making an ass of yourself. Please see yourself out. On your way home, please consider what you would like me to say at the next Board meeting regarding your behavior tonight." As a chastened Dr. Allen left the reception, Erin leaned over and whispered in my ear, "So, I'm someone you love, am I?" Before I could stammer a reply, Erin kissed my cheek and led me away to get a drink. We avoided the topic of Dr. Allen for the rest of the evening until we were on our way back to the hotel. "Did you really put two men in the hospital with a pipe wrench?" I chuckled softly before responding. "That part of the story is 100% true. What I didn't mention, though, was that they were both stoned at the time and facing the other direction. They would have killed me in a fair fight." It was close to midnight by the time we made it back to the hotel. We held each other's hands as we walked to the elevators, and Erin leaned against me as the doors closed. "Davis, how would you like this evening to end?" My heart started racing and my hands trembled. "I; I want to be with you. But, I have never;" "Are you still a virgin?" "I kissed a girl once, back in high school, but it was nothing like kissing you. I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my life, but I don't want to disappoint you." Erin tried to stay calm as she replied. "So, you think that I am some kind of floozy who is going to compare you to all my past conquests?" "No, that's not it at all, I;" "Or do you think that I am so shallow that I will get mad at you if it takes a little while for you to learn what I like?" "No, I don't think that either;" "Okay, then. Here is what's going to happen. When we get to our room, you are going to move some of the furniture out of the way, while I put on some music. You still remember how to dance, right? And then we will take things slowly. I will let you know what makes me feel good, and you will let me know what makes you feel even better. And we will be together, and that's all that matters." And that is what happened. Erin started a playlist of songs that she liked, and we slowly danced together in our room. After the first song ended, she nuzzled into my chest as she loosened my tie and undid the first two buttons of my shirt. When the next song started, she started gently kissing and then licking my chest, causing my manhood to stiffen almost painfully. "Well, hello, my rather large friend. You need to be patient, for now. But if you're good, I may kiss you as well before the night is done." Her sensuous voice, and the image it evoked, were definitely not conducive to patience, and I let out a low moan of pleasure. "That's what I like to hear," she murmured as she untucked my shirt and continued to undo my buttons until she could run her tongue over my nipples and tweak them with her teeth. She looked up at me with sultry, half-lidded eyes. "It's okay for you to touch me as well if you want," she said, as she took one of my hands and slid it under the back of her dress and down to her silky-smooth cheeks. She slid my other hand under the front of her dress so that it cupped her tit, and she sucked in a breath as I stroked my callused thumb over her nipple. "Now some women like it when you;" I kissed her before she could finish her thought. "Erin, I don't care what some women like, the only woman I want is you." "Oh," she replied in a breathy voice. "Well, I like it when you're a bit rougher with my tits. Not right away, I need to be in the mood; like I am now;" She lost her train of thought as my hand enveloped and massaged her tit, squeezing her nipple lightly between my thumb and forefinger as I lifted it away from her body. "Mmmm, yes. Just like that, baby." I felt a wave of heat roll up the fingers on my other hand, so I slid it further down until I felt a small triangle of material, that was slick with liquid heat. I slipped my finger a little further and felt her long smooth cunt open at my touch. "Oh, Baby," Erin whispered huskily into my ear. "We are going to have so much fun tonight." It was strange going back to my regular life after my night with Erin. The time with her was so incredible, and so beyond anything I could ever have imagined, that it didn't seem real. To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 3 How did we ever get here? Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. "When I was fourteen, Mr. Johnson introduced me to a friend of his, Henry White, who was a master plumber. Henry was a high-functioning alcoholic whose temper had driven away all his old apprentices and journeymen. Luckily, I was always big for my age, and Mr. Johnson assured Henry that I was seventeen, turning eighteen in the next few months, so he took me on with the promise to make me an apprentice as soon as I was old enough. By the time that Henry learned my actual age, he had come to rely on me so much that he kept me on." "But what about school? Don't you need a high school diploma to become an apprentice?" "One good thing about growing up in a small town is that most people know the score. I made it to school when I could, and Henry and I worked a lot on the weekends, while Alison watched the rest of my siblings. Most of my teachers let me through with C's and D's, even though I must have missed half of my classes. Everyone knew that I was working with Henry and that I would need my high school diploma to become an apprentice, so they just kind of let me slip through. "I had well over 6,000 hours of experience plumbing before I even turned 18 and could formally become an apprentice. By that point, Henry was a significantly less functional alcoholic, and I was doing everything for his business; all the plumbing and all of the invoicing. He just signed off on the work. If anyone had ever looked into it, he could have gotten into real trouble, but we did smaller jobs for folks who didn't have a lot of money, so no one ever noticed or cared. "Just about the last thing that Henry did before he passed was to swear out my application to become a master plumber. Then one day I showed up for work, and he had died in his sleep. He didn't own much of anything, other than his tools, and he didn't have any family that I knew of, so I just kept on working." After a few minutes spent lying together in silence, I thought that Erin might have drifted off, but she had one more question for me before she did. "When did your mom leave?" I had never told anyone that part of my story; even my brother and sisters thought that Mom had just left one day, leaving me in charge. The reality was so much worse. "By the time Lane started school, Mom had already left us. Not physically, but in all the other ways that matter. She didn't work, and she regularly brought her 'boyfriends' back to our house to trade sex for drugs. Any support she got from social services went straight into her arm or up her nose. I was working long hours by then, to pay the rent and put food on the table, so sometimes that meant that Mary or my brother would be at home with Mom when I wasn't there. I knew it was playing with fire, but there was nothing I could do about it other than pray. "Normally, when I got home, I would blow my horn as I pulled into our drive and Lane would come running out to hug me and tell me about his day. So, I knew something was wrong when I came home late one evening, turned off my truck, and he still hadn't come out. I went inside, and Mom was sitting stoned in the living room watching TV. I asked where Lane was, and she just waved toward the back of the house. Alison and Sharon were out, so Mary and Lane were home with her by themselves. I found him in the room that we shared, cowering in the corner, with little Mary guarding the door. She was only eight at the time. "After a few minutes, I got Lane to tell me what was wrong, and he showed me his arm. Earlier, he had been in the kitchen and had bumped into Mom while she was cooking something on the stove. In a burst of rage, or maybe just evil, she grabbed his arm and held it against the burner. You can still see the scar on his arm today. "That was the end of it. I asked Mary to stay with Lane in our room, I packed Mom's things into the one suitcase we owned, and I drove her to the bus station. I bought her a ticket to Grand Rapids, gave her all the cash in my wallet, and waited with her until she boarded. I told her I would call the police if she ever came back. "Before she left, she spat on me and told me she wished I had never been born." I marveled at how flat my voice sounded, but to my surprise, my cheeks felt wet. I thought I had lost the ability to cry long ago. "Can you imagine that, abandoning your own mother? I'll probably burn in hell, but it was the only way I could think of to keep my brother and sisters safe. I haven't seen her since, although she used to call a couple of times a year asking for money. I didn't feel too bad about hanging up on her when she did, though, since she was still collecting family benefits for us all. Lane barely remembers her, which is likely a blessing, so I made up the story about Mom going away for the weekend and never coming back. "Since then, I have done what was needed for us to survive. When Alison finished school, she wanted to stay home to help look after the others, but I convinced her to go to college. I said that Mom had put aside some money for her tuition, but of course, that was a lie. I have been making the payments for her, but I wanted her to have the chance to just be young, for once. To get away from all of this, at least for a while." "But what about you, Davis?" "I don't matter." "Well, you matter to me." While I was speaking, Erin had wrapped both arms around me and was now holding me tight against her body. When I finished, my body was wracked by waves of uncontrollable grief, but she held me through it all. Eventually, as I started to calm down, she gave me gentle kisses on the nape of my neck and whispered to me in a soft voice. I don't remember what she said, but I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. The power came back on early the next morning, and Erin and I were the first people to wake up. She lay beside me with a small smile on her face. "You've had some hard times, Davis Crawford, but you have come out the other side. You're pretty amazing." I felt a sudden burst of both elation and fear as I returned her smile. "Thanks for listening and not judging me. I've never told anyone some of the things I shared with you." "It was my pleasure. Now let's get up and make some coffee." Looking out the window, the snowdrifts were over two feet high in places, but I knew they weren't going to get any lighter as the sun came out and they started to melt. "I am going to get started on the shoveling if you want to start on breakfast." Erin gave me a bemused look. "Or maybe, I am fully capable of shoveling snow, and we can get it done twice as fast by working together." A few minutes after we started, Lane came out to help. At one point, when Erin was on the other side of the yard, he started to speak. "I heard some of what you said to Erin last night. I never knew what Mom did to you, what you did to protect us. Thank you." "Ah, Bud. I never wanted you to worry. Mom wasn't well for a long time, and she made some terrible choices. But she's gone now, and you will always be safe with me." By the time we finished, we had worked ourselves into a lather, so I suggested to Wilma that she get a snow plowing service for the winter. She gave me a look that implied that somewhere there was a village searching for its idiot; and that idiot was me. "Oh, I have a service, but they take so long to come that they are useless if they bother to show up at all." Erin jumped into the conversation, looking pissed off. "It's part of my family and the McDougal's ongoing campaign to get Gran to move. I have told them how dangerous the game they are playing is, but they just don't seem to care." I thought for a minute, before walking a little ways away and making a call. When I returned, I had some good news for Wilma. "Go ahead and cancel your current service. If they aren't going to do the work, they shouldn't have a problem with not getting paid. I called an old friend of mine from school who runs a snow removal company out of Harbor Springs, who owes me a favor or nine. From now on, you will be at the top of his list." Erin and I texted just about every day between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and we talked most nights when she wasn't working. We were both insanely busy; Erin was providing pediatric coverage for two hospitals that were three hours apart, and I was working as much overtime as possible, to save up for Christmas. Some weeks, the only time we had to meet in person was Sunday afternoons at Wilma's. Mary, in turn, was flourishing under Wilma's guidance. It seemed like she was channeling her emotions into her art, and I began to see the kind and thoughtful sister reemerge that I thought I had lost forever. She wouldn't show me the painting she was working on, but Wilma said she was making good progress, and that was all I needed to know. As it got towards mid-December, our thoughts turned to Christmas. Since Wilma's family was still boycotting the holidays, we decided to have a joint celebration like at Thanksgiving. Erin was going to be working at the hospital in Petoskey on Christmas Day, but we promised to keep Wilma company and to bring her a Christmas meal that she could eat on her break. In typical fashion, she tried to convince us that she would be fine with cafeteria food, but we would hear nothing of it. When we got to Wilma's house for lunch on Christmas Day, she had stockings laid out by the fireplace with a present for each of us. Santa must have had a very healthy budget, because he brought Lane a new fishing rod, Mary a set of expensive paints and charcoals, Sharon a contribution to her college fund, and Alison a specialized nurse's bag with a personalized stethoscope. Rather than a present, my stocking came with a small envelope that contained a pair of tickets to the traveling production of "Moulin Rouge" that was playing in Grand Rapids in March. Although I was happy to get a present of any kind, Wilma must have seen my look of confusion at the choice. "I was talking to Santa, and he mentioned that Erin loves musicals. Phillip used to take her to them when she was younger. He would put on his best suit, and she would get all dolled up in a dress with some of my jewelry, and they would go out for a fancy dinner before the show and have a grand old time." I looked at her in amusement, before replying. "Well, it seems that Santa is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. But I will have to say thanks, next time I bump into him." Our present to Wilma came in three parts. First, we included her in our Christmas cookie exchange, and Mary even gave her a double portion of the chocolate chip cookies she had baked. Second, the five of us committed to helping her catch up on the yard work and house repairs that had fallen by the wayside since Phillip passed. And finally, we pledged to do everything in our power to make sure that she could stay in her house for as long as she was able. Wilma hugged and thanked each of us with tears in her eyes, then looked over at Mary. "Why don't you get your present for your brother." Mary went to the studio at the back of the house and brought back what looked like a small painting, wrapped in Christmas paper. "I wanted to make you something to say 'thank you' for everything you have done for us. And for not giving up on me." When I unwrapped the painting, I was stunned. It was very different from Phillip or Wilma's more realistic works and had vibrant streaks of paint that burst across the canvas, meeting, seemingly at random, in explosions of color. The entire piece was chaotic, except for a single corner that was shielded from the turmoil by a solid arc of paint that was the exact color of my eyes. After lunch, Mary and Sharon kept Wilma company while Alison, Lane, and I went to see Erin at the hospital. Things were pretty quiet, so she had time to sit and eat her dinner with us. While she ate, I showed her pictures from earlier in the day. She laughed at one, in particular, of Wilma with her arm around Mary while they were wearing festive paper hats from their Christmas crackers. "Thank you for taking such good care of Wilma, Davis. She would never admit it, but the holidays would have been very lonely for her this year without you. It means the world to me that you could be there for her." We chatted a bit longer before I pulled out my present for Erin. It was a small flat package which she opened slowly. Inside was a framed drawing of Wilma's house, as seen from the docks, as she looked out the picture window in her living room. "This is amazing, who made it?" "I used to draw quite a bit in school. Since Mary has been working with your Gran, I thought I might give it another try, and I particularly liked how this one turned out." "It's beautiful, Davis. Thank you." She started to blush as she glanced over at Lane, before she slid a card over to me, and whispered, "Maybe you should wait to open this until later when you're alone." Inside the card was Erin's two-part gift to me. First, an invitation to visit her in Grand Rapids, and second, a night for the two of us in a suite at a very nice hotel. New Year's Eve was even quieter than usual at our house. Erin was working in Grand Rapids and was on call that evening. I spoke with her earlier in the day, however, and wished her a Happy New Year, and we sent each other kissing emojis at midnight. The rest of us spent the night playing board games. The only real excitement came a few days earlier when Mary asked if she could invite a friend to join us. "And is this friend a boy, by chance?" As far as I knew, Mary had never had a boyfriend, so this was a new development. Mary didn't have to answer, since her blush did the talking for her. "Do we know this boy?" "It's; It's James McDougal. But he's not like his brothers. He's a good guy." I had my reservations about all of the McDougals, but I was willing to give him a chance. I had only met James that one time at his parent's house when I had gone to get Mary, and he seemed polite enough. But since he was a McDougal, he was starting with two strikes and was in danger of going down swinging. To give Mary credit, James passed the first boyfriend test before he even made it into the house. When he drove into the yard, Munchkin was the first to greet him. He wasn't growling or barking like he sometimes did, or showing his teeth, but he was plenty intimidating. James waited patiently for him to approach before carefully scratching behind his ears. After Mary came out to greet James, Munchkin decided he was alright and fell in behind them as they came inside. Just after midnight, as he was getting ready to leave, James took me aside. "I just wanted to say, sir, that I am sorry for what happened with Mary a few months back. I should never have brought her over to my house without your permission, and I should have brought her right back home once I saw that my brothers were home. I promise you, that despite my bad judgment, I would have made sure that nothing happened to her, and I won't ever make that mistake again." I had to admit that James was growing on me. Chapter 5. It wasn't long before Mary introduced James to Wilma. I had to work on a Sunday in early January, so he offered to drive her to Wilma's in my place. I could tell he was nervous, and he was wearing a nice, collared shirt with some clean jeans, under his winter jacket. By the time he brought Mary home, his shirt was soaked in sweat, and he looked a little like a young man returning from war. Later that week, I asked Wilma what she thought of him. "He seems like a nice, polite boy and he sure is besotted with our Mary. While Mary and I worked on her latest painting, he did some chores for me, including chopping and stacking the entire half cord of wood you dropped off last week. But he didn't complain, and he was still smiling at Mary when he was done, so I think he will do." Wilma's relationship with the rest of the McDougals, however, remained tense, and they made it clear to me that continuing to help her would come at a steep cost. I ran into Calum one evening at the grocery store and he made their position crystal clear. "We've got a big job coming up in Indian River that you might be interested in. Starts in a week, and it would keep you busy for the better part of the next year, solid. The job is yours if you want it." "What's this job going to cost me?" "It's yours, no strings attached. But you wouldn't have time to help old lady Anderson anymore. You know, and I know, that it's time for her to move on from that land. It's what her family wants and it's what's best for her. I am sure that doctor down in Petoskey would understand, I figure she must be tired of looking after that grandmother of hers all the time anyway. Think how much more time the two of you would have together if you were working a regular nine-to-five kind of job. "On the other hand, if you don't work with us on this project, my family is going to take it pretty hard. Hard enough that we might reach out to our friends and neighbors to let them know that you are not a team player and that they may not want to do business with you." There it was. They were threatening to ruin me if I didn't do what they wanted. I knew they couldn't cut off all of my business since there were too many people in the lower peninsula who had been screwed over by them in the past. But they could sure make things tough for me. I am really bad at taking orders, however, particularly from dickheads like Calum McDougal. Calum had a cynical smile as he walked away. He didn't value decency or loyalty, so I was sure he thought he had won me over. All he had done was harden my resolve. I felt honor-bound to reach out to my friend who was clearing Wilma's driveway, though, to let him know that he might get some heat from the McDougals. He was surprisingly poetic in his response. "Fuck those arrogant worm-drowners and the horses they rode in on." Valentine's Day was never a big deal for me. Over the years, I hadn't had time to date, and I wouldn't have had any money to do anything special if I did, so the Hallmark holiday passed me by without too much fuss or bother. I had hoped things might be different since I was with Erin, but she was on call at the hospital in Petoskey, and I was pushing hard on a large multi-unit build that was on a tight schedule, so I was working six or even seven days a week until it was done. My work hadn't completely dried up since my run-in with Calum, but it had certainly taken a hit, so I was not in a position to turn down jobs, no matter how inconvenient. My one consolation was I knew I would see Erin in a couple of weeks when I visited her in Grand Rapids for the show. I had some flowers delivered to her at the hospital anyway, to let her know that I was thinking of her. That earned me an emoji-filled text and an enthusiastic video call when she was done with her shift. As the date of the show got closer, I started to get anxious. I had never been to a live performance of anything, except the occasional high school assembly, and I worried that Erin would be disappointed in my lack of manners and refinement. Wilma noticed my growing nervousness and decided that I needed a pep talk. "Listen, Davis. Erin likes you for who you are. She doesn't need or want you to act like some slick yuppie from the big city." "I know, Wilma, but I don't even know what to wear. The nicest outfit I own is still just a collared shirt over a pair of jeans." "Hmm, I can help you with that. I still have some of Phillip's old suits and ties, let's take a look and see what might fit." Half an hour later, Wilma had picked out a heavier dark charcoal-colored suit, a lightweight linen suit suitable for warmer weather, and a dark grey suit with tight pinstripes for me to try on. She had some shirts for me, as well, from when Phillip was younger. "Phillip wore that pinstripe suit the first time that he took me to the movies. I'll never forget that night, he looked just like Cary Grant. If you bring these suits to the tailor in Indian River, he should be able to take in the jacket and hem the pants to fit you perfectly. A good tailor can make these suits look like they were cut just for you." I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I couldn't help but wonder if I would look funny in a decades-old suit. Wilma dismissed my concerns out of hand. "Let me tell you a little secret. If you buy a cheap suit, it will quickly begin to look tacky and dated. If you invest in a quality suit, it will age gracefully and become a timeless classic." Finally, Wilma selected a half dozen ties for me to try on and spent an hour teaching me how to tie a half-Windsor knot. "Get these suits altered, grab yourself a pair of polished black leather shoes, and you'll have those snooty pricks at the theatre thinking they are underdressed. And try to have fun. Erin loves the theatre, so if the two of you continue to fall in love, you will be going with her at least a couple of times a year, so you might as well enjoy it." I stood there in shock for a moment. "Do you really think Erin is falling in love with me?" "Well, yes, I do. And it's clear as daylight that you're in love with her too. But don't overthink things. Just go to the show and have a great night together. And here, take this with you as well," Wilma said handing me a navy blue pocket square with a distinctive paisley pattern. "Most men don't bother wearing a pocket square anymore, but I think they complete the look perfectly. You should wear this one on your date with Erin." Wilma took a final look at me and then slipped a twenty-dollar bill into my pocket. "That's for you to get a haircut before the show. Your normal 'shaggy mutt lost in a forest' look is adorable but not for your big date." The day of the performance approached with both aching slowness and relentless speed. We hadn't discussed it, but I knew (or at least strongly suspected) that Erin would have some expectations about how we spent our time together after the show. Unfortunately, I had no experience when it came to women other than a single kiss with Brittany Johnson back in my sophomore year of high school. I was terrified that I would disappoint her. To make matters worse, I had the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Grand Rapids to overthink things. By the time I arrived at Erin's apartment complex, I was a bit of a mess. My nerves were somewhat allayed, however, when Erin came running out to greet me with a huge smile on her face. "You made it! How was the drive? Wow, I love the haircut! I hope you're not too tired. I can't wait for tonight. I have been telling the girls all about you, and they are dying to see if the man lives up to the legend!" I guess Erin could see the sudden swell of anxiety on my face, so she took my hand. "Don't worry, the girls will love you, Davis. Why don't you grab your bag and come inside? I thought we could get changed here and then check in to the hotel before dinner and the show." Erin's housemates were really sweet, and the three of us chatted for at least an hour while Erin got ready before I excused myself to do the same. I put on Phillip's charcoal grey suit along with the crisp white shirt that Wilma had recommended. It took me four tries to tie my navy blue tie, but even I could tell that it made the colors in my paisley pocket square pop. Despite my nerves, I was still ready before Erin, so I rejoined her housemates in the living room while I waited. They kept sneaking glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking, so much so that I thought I must have done something wrong. Rather than second-guessing myself, I decided to take the bull by the horns and ask; better to be embarrassed in front of Erin's housemates than in front of her. "It's; it's not that you did anything wrong. It's just that you look; well, amazing; like an old-time movie star or something. Erin is going to swoon when she sees you." "You really think so?" I asked, still not sure of myself. Just then, I heard Erin's voice from behind me. "I'm sorry I took so long; we should head out before we're;" Erin went silent as I turned to look at her. She was wearing a floor-length emerald-green dress, which seemed to flow around her and mold to her curves, gathering delicately at her neck while leaving her back bare. Her sandy-blonde hair was styled in an elegant updo, while a few strands floated loose, framing her face. But, as always, what captured and held my gaze were her amber eyes, which danced and sparkled as she moved. My hands began to tremble, and I didn't trust myself to speak. "Do I look alright, Davis?" I took a deep breath that sent oxygen coursing through my body, as I found my voice. "I had no idea that anyone could look as beautiful as you do right now." Apparently, she liked my response, since her face broke into a wide grin. "You look mighty handsome yourself, Mister," she said while making a small adjustment to the knot of my tie. "Is that one of Grampy's suits? It looks amazing on you, and I love the tie and the; Oh; Oh, Davis. Is that Grampy's pocket square?" I could see tears forming in her eyes. "Wilma thought you might like it; that it might remind you of Phillip and the times he took you to the theatre when you were younger. I don't have to wear it, though, if you don't like it," I said reaching up to take it out of my pocket. Erin stopped my hand with hers, however, and then lightly ran her fingertips over the colorful square. "Gran was right. It reminds me of Grampy and now it will remind me of you. Please, I want you to wear it. For me." I felt a bit self-conscious pulling up to a fancy hotel in my ratty old truck, but it didn't seem to faze Erin in the least, so I decided not to worry about it. The suite she had booked was by far the nicest room of any kind that I had ever been in, but I tried not to seem like a country rube as I looked around. "Do you like it?" Erin asked a bit nervously, as she tried to gauge my reaction. "Honestly, I thought that rooms like this were just for celebrities and movie stars, and folks like that." "Normally that's the case, I guess, but for one night; tonight; it's ours." Dinner was lovely. I kept expecting people to see past my suit and realize that I was an imposter; just a plumber from the peninsula; not the kind of man who should be spending the evening with a woman like Erin. But she seemed to be having a wonderful time, so I began to relax. My anxiety was further abated when she leaned over the table and said in a low voice. "Jesus, the women in this place can't stop checking you out. I'm kind of wishing I had brought my bear spray now to keep them away. I need to excuse myself for a minute, but I wouldn't be surprised to find one of them trying to take my place when I get back." "Erin, I would never;" "I know, Darling. And frankly, they can look all they want because I know who you're going home with tonight." After that, I looked around the room with a new eye and noticed the subtle glances in my direction, and the shy smiles and blushes. I guess Phillip really did have good taste in suits. After dinner, we walked arm-in-arm to the performance hall, which was very impressive, with its soaring ceilings and plush velvet upholstery. Our seats were in a box on the right-hand side of the hall, which gave us a commanding view of the stage. As the lights went down, Erin took my hand in eager anticipation. I don't remember much about the performance that night; I spent more time watching Erin's childlike wonder than what was happening on the stage. Erin was still holding my hand at the intermission, and I felt a warm sense of contentment wash over me. "Oh, I forgot to mention, some of the largest donors to the hospital are hosting a reception after the performance. Would it be alright if we put in an appearance before we head back to our hotel?" I agreed without hesitation; a decision I would second guess before the night was over. It was close to 10:30 by the time the performance ended, and Erin held my arm, while resting her head on my shoulder, as we made our way through the hall to the reception. We each grabbed a drink, and we drifted through the small crowd until Erin was greeted warmly by a distinguished-looking older couple. Erin introduced them to me as the hosts of the reception, Mr. and Mrs. Wendel. "Please, just call us Tom and Martha. And you two make such a lovely couple. What do you do, Davis?" "I am a plumber, Ma'am," I replied, wondering how that news would be received by this obviously well-to-do couple, but I needn't have worried. "What kind of plumbing do you do?" Tom asked with genuine interest. "Mainly residential at this point, since I just got my master's license last year. A lot of the larger builders want to see some gray hairs on the heads of their skilled tradesmen, so right now, I am just doing what I can to pay the bills." "Amen, to that brother. I remember those days well. I started out, over 30 years ago now, as a dry Waller, and I spent more years than I care to remember doing whatever jobs I could get, just to get a foot in the door. It paid off for me in the end, though. Say, I am working on a development on the south side of town and was wondering;" Before Martha could stop him, Tom launched into a long and technical question about a challenge he was having with the plumbing for his new development. When I started an equally long and technical response, Erin kissed me on the cheek and whispered that Martha and she were going to go to the bar to get another drink. A few minutes later, I was still talking with Tom when a movement at the bar caught my eye. I looked more closely and saw that Erin was speaking with a tall, arrogant-looking man who kept trying to put his hand on her lower back, while she forcefully pushed it away. "My apologies, Tom, but could you give me a minute?" Without waiting for a reply, I walked over to where Erin was standing and slipped my arm around her waist, just as the man reached for her for a third time. "Hey, now," I said, trying to defuse the situation with a bit of humor. "At least buy me a drink before you make a move on me like that." His hand recoiled like it had been scalded, and his cheeks colored in anger. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from where I was standing. "Well, if it isn't the plumber," he said in a mocking tone. He must have been eavesdropping on my conversation with Tom, and he clearly wasn't impressed. "What did you think of the show this evening? Actually, that's hardly a fair question since you've probably never been to the theatre before. So, how about something more your level? I wonder what you would think of the bathrooms in my new penthouse. I am sure you would find them very impressive. I will give you a call the next time my toilet gets clogged, and you can come and check them out." He seemed very pleased with his insults, so he continued, a condescending grin on his face. "Anyway, Dr. Anderson, as I was saying, it was charitable of you to let the help see how the rest of us live, and I am sure he is having a good time and all, but it's past time for him to bring his daddy's suit home, don't you think? Why don't you leave him to it, and you and I can go have a drink? And then; who knows? I had dealt with people like this prick for my entire life. When you grow up with one abusive parent and no money, you get used to just about everyone feeling like they are better than you. There was nothing I could do about that, but I learned to use humor as a shield to protect myself and deflect attention. But sometimes humor just wasn't enough. And when humor failed, a more direct approach was called for. "You know, if you're trying to insult me, you're going to have to work a whole lot harder than that. But I doubt that hard work is something that you're too familiar with. I have been working since I was twelve to put food on the table for my brother and sisters. I have been a plumber since I was fourteen; by the time I was fifteen, I am sure I had already spent more time ankle-deep in shit than you've spent doing honest work in your entire life. "I didn't borrow this suit from my father because I don't know who my father is; that's right, I'm a bastard. But I am a bastard by circumstance and not by choice. I was born this way, what's your excuse? And since you asked, the suit I'm wearing belonged to Erin's grandfather, and you're right, I would never be able to afford a suit like this myself. But it's an honor to wear a suit that belonged to a man who loved Erin more than anything in this world. If I am really lucky, maybe she will let me love her just as deeply one day. "I may not know that much about musicals or the theatre, but anything that brings that much joy to Erin is more than fine in my books. So, I am going to continue to have a wonderful time with Erin this evening. Why wouldn't I? I am here with the most beautiful woman in the place, or;" I swept my gaze over to Martha, who was still standing beside Erin, "tied for the most beautiful, anyway." The man's face was now distorted with anger, and he took a step towards me. I stepped forward to meet him, my eyes never leaving his. Before, I had been speaking loudly for the benefit of those around us, but now I was speaking in a controlled voice, pitched for his ears alone. "You can say what you want about me, you prick. I have no respect for arrogant shitheels like you, so I just don't care. But before you ever think about putting your hands on Erin again, without her consent, you would do well to remember the Pipe Wrench Incident. "When I was fourteen, two of the men my mother was having sex with, in exchange for drugs, decided that my sister Alison should join in their fun. She was just nine years old. Luckily, I was home at the time, but I was just a kid, and they were fully grown men. When it was over, they were in the hospital, and I was cleaning my pipe wrench with some WD-40 and a rag." I looked him up and down once, dismissively. "Remember that story the next time you're tempted to touch someone I love." I turned to Tom who had come over to stand with Martha. "I'm sorry I interrupted your lovely event, and please don't hold my bad manners against Erin. I don't want to cause any more trouble, so maybe we should be on our way." Tom held up his hand indicating that we should stay. "Dr. Allen, you're drunk and making an ass of yourself. Please see yourself out. On your way home, please consider what you would like me to say at the next Board meeting regarding your behavior tonight." As a chastened Dr. Allen left the reception, Erin leaned over and whispered in my ear, "So, I'm someone you love, am I?" Before I could stammer a reply, Erin kissed my cheek and led me away to get a drink. We avoided the topic of Dr. Allen for the rest of the evening until we were on our way back to the hotel. "Did you really put two men in the hospital with a pipe wrench?" I chuckled softly before responding. "That part of the story is 100% true. What I didn't mention, though, was that they were both stoned at the time and facing the other direction. They would have killed me in a fair fight." It was close to midnight by the time we made it back to the hotel. We held each other's hands as we walked to the elevators, and Erin leaned against me as the doors closed. "Davis, how would you like this evening to end?" My heart started racing and my hands trembled. "I; I want to be with you. But, I have never;" "Are you still a virgin?" "I kissed a girl once, back in high school, but it was nothing like kissing you. I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my life, but I don't want to disappoint you." Erin tried to stay calm as she replied. "So, you think that I am some kind of floozy who is going to compare you to all my past conquests?" "No, that's not it at all, I;" "Or do you think that I am so shallow that I will get mad at you if it takes a little while for you to learn what I like?" "No, I don't think that either;" "Okay, then. Here is what's going to happen. When we get to our room, you are going to move some of the furniture out of the way, while I put on some music. You still remember how to dance, right? And then we will take things slowly. I will let you know what makes me feel good, and you will let me know what makes you feel even better. And we will be together, and that's all that matters." And that is what happened. Erin started a playlist of songs that she liked, and we slowly danced together in our room. After the first song ended, she nuzzled into my chest as she loosened my tie and undid the first two buttons of my shirt. When the next song started, she started gently kissing and then licking my chest, causing my manhood to stiffen almost painfully. "Well, hello, my rather large friend. You need to be patient, for now. But if you're good, I may kiss you as well before the night is done." Her sensuous voice, and the image it evoked, were definitely not conducive to patience, and I let out a low moan of pleasure. "That's what I like to hear," she murmured as she untucked my shirt and continued to undo my buttons until she could run her tongue over my nipples and tweak them with her teeth. She looked up at me with sultry, half-lidded eyes. "It's okay for you to touch me as well if you want," she said, as she took one of my hands and slid it under the back of her dress and down to her silky-smooth cheeks. She slid my other hand under the front of her dress so that it cupped her tit, and she sucked in a breath as I stroked my callused thumb over her nipple. "Now some women like it when you;" I kissed her before she could finish her thought. "Erin, I don't care what some women like, the only woman I want is you." "Oh," she replied in a breathy voice. "Well, I like it when you're a bit rougher with my tits. Not right away, I need to be in the mood; like I am now;" She lost her train of thought as my hand enveloped and massaged her tit, squeezing her nipple lightly between my thumb and forefinger as I lifted it away from her body. "Mmmm, yes. Just like that, baby." I felt a wave of heat roll up the fingers on my other hand, so I slid it further down until I felt a small triangle of material, that was slick with liquid heat. I slipped my finger a little further and felt her long smooth cunt open at my touch. "Oh, Baby," Erin whispered huskily into my ear. "We are going to have so much fun tonight." It was strange going back to my regular life after my night with Erin. The time with her was so incredible, and so beyond anything I could ever have imagined, that it didn't seem real. To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 2 Dancing, and other forms of sentimentality. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.  As we finished the prep work, I asked Wilma about her day with Mary. "She is a good kid but is carrying a lot of anger and shame. We spent most of the day getting in touch with that anger. It takes some people years before they can express their emotions through art; it took her about five minutes. But we had to take some breaks to clean up the paint splatters afterward before they stained." "Oh shit! Sorry about that. I can pay to replace anything that;" "Nothing to apologize for; I asked her to express how she felt, and she did it in the way that felt right to her." "Well, I appreciate your taking the time. I am just her big brother; I feel so lost when it comes to parenting." "Being a parent doesn't mean that you know any more than anyone else, and it certainly doesn't mean that you know any better. For what it's worth, I think you are doing a fine job with your family. I know that you don't have your parents around to say it, but this old woman is mighty proud of who you are and of how you have stepped up for your brother and sisters. They are very lucky to have you." I turned away so that Wilma wouldn't see me getting choked up. I couldn't remember the last time that someone had said they were proud of me. Soon enough, though, it was dinner time, and Erin came into the kitchen with that same look of amusement on her face. "Sorry to bother the chef, but Lane needs some help that only a big brother can provide." When I gave her a quizzical look, she blushed. "It seems like he is going through puberty, which can pose; some new challenges. When I was assessing his ankle, he; well, indicated his interest in me in a way that can be difficult to hide, particularly while wearing sweatpants. It's natural for his body to react that way at that age, and it's nothing for him to feel badly about, but he was mortified. I think he could use a bit of brotherly guidance and understanding." I went to the living room and saw that Lane was curled up on the couch and looked like he was fighting back tears. "How are you doing, Buddy?" He couldn't even look at me he was so embarrassed. "I am so sorry; I just couldn't help it. I don't know why it started to get bigger, and I wanted it to stop, and it wouldn't and then she saw me, and;" he continued as he fought back a sob. "Can we just go home?" "Erin is a doctor. She knows how the human body works and has seen that kind of thing a hundred times. She isn't mad at you or embarrassed. She just feels bad that you feel so bad. This is just part of getting older and growing up. "Did I ever tell you about what happened in Miss Iron's class when I was a freshman? Miss Iron was a bit of a legend among the male students at our local high school. She was the youngest and prettiest teacher, by far, and even though she always dressed professionally, the clothing style had yet to be invented that could fully conceal her bountiful natural endowment. "Well, I liked Miss Irons a lot. She was one of the few teachers who looked past my difficulty with reading and writing. So, I developed a little crush on her, which was fine until the inevitable; hmm, physical demonstration of my crush; happened in class one day, just before she asked me to collect everyone's quizzes. I tried to delay, I tried to ask a friend to do it instead, but eventually, I had to stand up. It took me until my junior year to live that one down." As Lane listened to my story, he turned to face me and his second-hand embarrassment for me helped to push his embarrassment to the side. "So, what happened?" "Miss Irons was lovely and kind like she always was, but I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me or to get hit by a bolt of lightning. Things would have been fine if she hadn't mentioned what happened to the principal, who called Mom. She didn't find the story funny at all." I hadn't thought of the aftermath when I started telling Lane this particular story, but as they say, might as well put it in four-wheel drive and keep going. "Mom was mad?" "By then, Mom was pretty much always angry. I did my best to keep her away from you and the girls when she got that way, but yeah; she was mad." "Are you mad at me?" "No, Bud, I'm not. In a few years, once your embarrassment has died down a little, I will tease you mercilessly about this because that's what brothers do; and maybe threaten to tell your girlfriend, if you fall behind on your chores or homework. But I will never get mad at you for something that you can't control. And I promise that Erin isn't mad at you either." Just then, Mary poked her head in to tell us that dinner was on the table. "Are you safe now, or do you need a few more minutes." "I'm good. Thanks, Dad." After I helped Lane hobble into the dining room, we got down to the business of eating and teasing each other, but not necessarily in that order. It felt good; almost like what I imagined a real family would feel like. Eventually, the conversation turned to more serious matters, though, and Erin led off the questions. "So, how do you know Gran, and why are you wearing Grampy's favorite sweater? And, for what it's worth, I don't remember him filling it out in quite the way that you do." I blushed a bit as Wilma jumped in. "If Phillip had filled out that sweater like young Davis here, it wouldn't have stayed on him for very long, I can tell you that." "Gran!" Erin exclaimed, laughing while sounding scandalized. "I didn't need that mental image. Heck, none of us needed that mental image." "Oh, don't you worry, Dear. He still filled it out well enough, and it looked equally good on our bedroom floor." We were pretty much all blushing at that point, which I think was Wilma's objective, so I quickly changed the topic. "I am just your mother's plumber. I came out to fix her boiler and then finished the job earlier this week when a couple of parts came in that I needed." Wilma jumped in at that point and added her two cents to my story. "He also brought me my groceries and we had a lovely conversation. He is a real Renaissance gentleman, a rarity these days." Erin looked grateful but concerned. "Did you have enough money to cover the bill, Gran? You know I can help if you need;" I tried to jump in before Wilma could reply. "No need to worry, the bill was paid in full;" "Hogwash," Wilma exclaimed as I tried to finish, turning to Mary before she continued. "Your brother wouldn't let me pay him a cent for the work that he did. Not even for the parts that needed to be replaced! He is a very nice boy but a terrible businessman." I turned to Erin for support. "I figured your Gran has enough going on right now with her health and all. It was the least I could do to help her out." Erin looked at me with a strange expression on her face. I didn't have much experience with women, so I figured I must have made her angry somehow. Most of my interactions with women, including my sisters, seemed to end with them being upset with me for one reason or another, but she didn't sound angry when she spoke. "Thank you, Davis, that was very sweet of you." "Yeah, well; you see, it's just; pass the fish, please." "That still doesn't explain why you're wearing Grampy's favorite sweater. When I was a little girl, I used to curl up in Grampy's lap and snuggle into that sweater as he read to me. He was wearing it when I danced my first dance with him in front of the fireplace. Do you remember that old record player, Gran? You used to bring it out and we would waltz around the living room to Moon River." "I still have that record player here somewhere, let me go see if I can find it." Erin started to protest, but it was too late. "To finish answering your question, Erin, we were here today because your Gran offered to mentor Mary. I tried to politely decline, but your Gran is pretty persistent when she wants to be." "That sounds like Gran. Most of the time when she makes a suggestion, it is really a command." "While we are asking questions, how is Lane's ankle?" "It's pretty badly sprained, and he will need to use crutches to walk for the next couple of weeks. You should bring him to the hospital to get some X-rays done as well, to make sure that he doesn't have any fractures." I could feel myself deflate as she mentioned X-rays. "I'm not trying to be cheap, but are the X-rays absolutely necessary? We don't have the best insurance; we got it through the exchange. I guess it's better than nothing, but the deductible is pretty high, and my other sister, Alison, her college tuition is due soon. But if you say it's important, I will put in some extra hours to make it work." It didn't usually bother me that we were poor. Heck, most everyone we knew, except the McDougals, was poor. But it hit home when you had to tell a beautiful doctor with bright amber eyes that you couldn't afford an X-ray for your little brother unless it was urgent. "Tell you what. I will be working at the hospital in Petoskey tomorrow, so why don't you bring Lane by, and I will take care of him? I will make sure that he gets a pair of loaner crutches for as long as he needs them." "You don't need to do that for us." Erin gave me another one of her looks, this one I was more familiar with; I was pretty sure it was annoyance. "So, just to be clear, you can look after my Gran, fix her boiler for free, and bring her groceries whenever you feel like it, but I can't look after your brother and make sure that his ankle is treated properly?" "Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a bit of a jackass. I'm sorry." "Apology accepted. Come by the hospital at 11 AM tomorrow." Before we could continue, the sound of a 45 playing on an old record player filled the house. You could hear the hisses and pops before Ella Fitzgerald's voice began to sing "Dream a Little Dream of Me." Chapter 3. We got up from the table and followed the music back to the living room. I helped Lane out of his chair while he half-hobbled and half-hopped along beside me. Wilma had set her ancient record player up in the corner beside a stack of old 45s, and she had a faraway look in her eyes as she looked out the picture window toward the lake. "I think it's time for me to ask the prettiest girl in the place to dance," I said, as my eyes swept across the room. "But unfortunately, it's a three-way tie. So, will you do me the honor?" I said as I held out my hand to Wilma. "I haven't danced since Phillip passed. You know, we used to dance together every Friday night. It didn't matter where we were or what we were doing, we would always make time to dance at least one song together, even if the music was only in our heads." "I imagine I will be a pretty poor partner compared to Phillip, but I will try not to step on your toes." Wilma and I ended up dancing a slow foxtrot to "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole. She smiled at me as we slowly circled the living room. "You're a very good dancer, young man." "Our mother taught me when I was very young." Before she began with the drugs and men, our mother had been a showgirl in New York and then Las Vegas. When she got pregnant with me, she moved back to Mackinaw City and started teaching ballroom dancing at a local studio. By the time I was five, I was her practice partner of choice, and she always insisted that I lead, despite being only half her size. "The man always leads, Darling, that's just the way of the world." I was hardly a man at the time, but I never disagreed with my mother when she was in a good mood, because I knew it could shift in an instant. So, I learned to dance, and I learned to lead. The memories came flooding back as I guided Wilma into a soft over-sway, and she smiled with delight. "Oh my, you do know how to dance!" I couldn't help but smile back. "I can't take all the credit. I think Phillip must have infused this sweater with his fancy footwork." As the song ended, I took a step back and did my best to give Wilma a gracious bow. "It was a pleasure dancing with you, my lady." "The pleasure was all mine, good sir." I turned toward Mary and held out my hand. She hesitated before Wilma declared, "There are no wallflowers in this house." Mary slowly stood but looked anxious as I took her hand. "Davis, I don't know how to dance. Mom was; she was too far gone to teach me by the time I was old enough to learn." "That's okay," I reassured her. "If there is anything that Mom made sure of, it's that I know how to lead. Just relax, and I will guide you through it." Wilma helped Lane, who had taken over as DJ, to choose a slower song so that Mary would feel more comfortable, and I heard the opening bars of "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. I started to lead Mary through a slow rumba, and she picked up the steps very quickly. She was a natural. I felt a sudden stab of regret as we moved together across the floor. "I'm sorry. I should have made time to teach you to dance. But the last few years, it has just taken everything I have to keep us;" "It's alright. You've had other things on your mind. And look; you are teaching me how to dance, now." As Mary grew more confident, I guided her through a simple underarm turn, and we ended with a dip, which made her giggle and earned a round of applause from the others. Finally, I turned to Erin, who was sitting on the couch beside Lane. I suddenly felt very shy and, for the first time that evening, she looked nervous as well. "Would you dance with me, Erin?" She didn't reply but stood and took my hand. We waited for a moment while Wilma and Lane chose a new 45 and then listened to the pop and hiss as it started to play. Soon, an alto saxophone introduced the Henri Mancini version of "Moon River," and we started a slow waltz. Although there was space between us, it was bridged by an electric charge that connected and drew us together. Even though I spent most of the dance looking over Erin's shoulder, every detail of her beauty was etched in my memory, and I felt a warm breeze pass between us, raising goosebumps on my skin. We barely noticed the pause as the song ended, and a new one began until Etta James began to sing. At last, my love has come along My lonely days are over And life is like a song The song was in 4/4 time, so I switched to a foxtrot and Erin followed as we glided across the smooth wood of the living room floor. I was so caught up in the moment, and in Erin, that I led her through a turn that transitioned into an over sway, before I stepped backward, allowing her to gently pivot into me. Our eyes met and I was lost in them again. Before we could break the spell, a heavy gust of wind shook the house, and the power flickered out. The room went dark, which sharpened my remaining senses. Suddenly, the warmth of Erin's breath on my neck felt like wildfire across my skin. We were motionless for a three-heartbeat eternity before the lights flickered and came back on. I let go of Erin and felt all of my longing and awkwardness rush back in. "Thank you, Erin. That was;" I couldn't finish; words didn't seem enough to express how I felt. "I should check the breakers and make sure that everything is alright, and then we should go. Why don't I wash these clothes and drop them back for you later." Wilma just smiled and shook her head. "If you like them, please keep them. Otherwise, they will just grow old and musty like me." A little while later, we said our goodbyes, but I promised to bring Lane to the hospital the next morning. Wilma told Mary that she would see her on Wednesday after school and again the next Sunday. I was expecting Mary to protest, but she just gave a meek, "Yes, Wilma." I was nervous when I took Lane to the hospital the next day. The deductible on our insurance was high enough that we paid for pretty much anything less serious than a severed limb out of pocket. Erin, however, was as good as her word. After the X-ray confirmed that there were no breaks or fractures in the bones around his ankle, she re-wrapped it and arranged for a pair of loaner crutches that he could use for as long as he needed them. Before we left, Erin asked me if I wanted to grab a coffee in the cafeteria, to which I readily agreed. I gave my phone to Lane so he could amuse himself while Erin and I talked. "I just wanted to say how much I appreciate what you did for Gran. I do what I can, but I spend half my time at the Children's Hospital down in Grand Rapids right now and I am often on call while I am here. I just don't have the time to give her the help that she needs." "Honestly, it's no big deal. I do a lot of work around Good Hart since the bigger plumbing companies don't like to travel that far, so I don't mind looking in on her while I am there. And she seems to have taken a real interest in Mary, so the least I can do is to bring her some groceries and help around the place a bit." Erin pursed her lips and looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. "The 'least you can do' is more than the rest of our family can be bothered to do put together, so thank you." "I meant to ask you about that. What did your Gran do to end up so isolated from the rest of your family?" "The rest of my family is; there is no nice way to put it, they're snobs. None of them have any interest in spending time 'up north' as they call it, and they can't wait for Gran to move into a retirement home and die so they can get their money and forget about this place. That's why no one comes to visit Gran anymore, even for Thanksgiving; it's part of their campaign to convince her to sell her land to the McDougals. Before you came along, I thought they were going to succeed." "Well, excuse my language, but fuck them. I don't know Wilma that well, but I will do what I can to make sure that she gets to spend her remaining days in the place that she loves." "That's easy to say, but harder to do once the McDougals and their minions start coming by your place, offering you money and making threats unless you back off." "Well, if they do, they will find out what every teacher who ever taught me learned the hard way. I am bad at taking orders and even worse at following instructions. I am not afraid of the McDougal boys." My exclamation brought a smile to Erin's pretty face. I decided that I would be willing to do quite a lot to see that smile on her face again. But there was one thing I still didn't understand. "Why aren't you on board with the rest of your family? You must be under a lot of pressure to abandon your Gran like the rest of them." "My father, Gran's youngest son, Max, died shortly after I was born, and my mother moved the family to California where she remarried into a family that had a little money but a great deal of pretension and ambition. My mother picked up that insatiable need for money and status like it was a virus. "When I was a child, my mother and stepfather spent summers and holidays traveling the world, staying in places where children weren't welcome. Although they wanted nothing to do with Gran and Grampy and their 'vermin-filled shack in the middle of nowhere', they were more than happy to leave me with them while they were away. "They would put me on a plane to Grand Rapids while they jetted off to their spas and their fine dining. Gran and Grampy were the only people who cared for me, and they became my whole world. "When I was 14, I was staying with Gran and Grampy, and I caught a fever that was so bad that I nearly died. It was a pretty grim time. My parents even thought about flying home from Monaco to be with me. They didn't, but it was the only time in my entire childhood that they considered it. But I will always remember how kind the doctors and nurses were to me when I was sick. That's why I became a pediatrician and moved home." "Isn't California home?" "Home is where the people that you love are, and so this will always be my home. Or it will be until Gran passes on, anyway." We sat in silence for a while, sipping our coffee. Before long, it was time for me to go. "This might sound crazy, but since the rest of your family aren't going to be here to celebrate Thanksgiving with your Gran, how about you and I try to give her one more Thanksgiving to remember." Erin brightened at the idea, and the smile returned to her face. "That would be amazing! Why don't I give you my number, and we can figure out how to make it happen!" Chapter 4. For the next few weeks, Mary continued to meet with Wilma on Wednesdays and Sundays. I would often take the opportunity to bring her groceries or other supplies while I dropped Mary off and, if the weather was agreeable, do some fishing. Once he could walk without crutches, Lane came along as well, in quest of another monster steelhead. Unfortunately, all he caught was some yellow perch and rock bass, but it was nice to spend the day with him down on the dock. I saw Erin a few times at Wilma's as we made plans for Thanksgiving. She seemed to particularly enjoy talking with me while I split firewood out by the shed. It was hard work, and I was often drenched with sweat by the time I was done, but she didn't seem to mind. And she worked while we talked, helping to stack the larger pieces and collecting the smaller ones for kindling. The one point of contention in our plan was how Erin would get to Wilma's on Thanksgiving Day. She was slated to work a 12-hour shift the evening before, ending at seven in the morning, and she worried that if she went home to rest, she would sleep through the entire day. Her solution was to drive out to Wilma's after her shift and catch a few hours of sleep when she got there. I thought that driving that far after working all night seemed like a terrible idea, so I offered to give her a ride instead. She did not like that one bit. "I don't want you to make an extra trip when I am perfectly capable of driving myself." It sounded like she was digging in for a fight, so I tried a different tactic to convince her. "I need to stop at the hospital anyway, to return Lane's crutches. I can kill two birds with one stone and pick you up at the same time." She didn't buy that rationale either so, reluctantly, I resorted to the truth. "I am sure you're a great driver, but if you drive yourself, I will be up that morning anyway, worrying that you are safe. I know it doesn't make sense, but I have been looking after my siblings for so long its second nature for me to worry, and I can't seem to turn it off. So please, let me pick you up. But for me, not for you. And do you know how rarely I get to be gallant these days? I will feel like your knight in shining armor." That finally got a laugh from Erin. "Alright, you win. Why don't you pick me up at 7:15 at the hospital? You can sweep me up onto your trusty steed and carry me away to Gran's house." "If by trusty steed you mean rusty old GMC truck, then it's a deal." The morning of Thanksgiving dawned chilly and gray, with a cold wind blowing in off the lake. I was up early to make sure that I made it to the hospital on time, and I was listening to the local AM country station as I drove when the DJ started his break. "A happy Thanksgiving to all our listeners. If you're on the roads today, be aware that there is a severe weather warning in effect for the area north of Cadillac and into the upper peninsula. We're expecting a combination of high winds and lake-effect snow to make driving hazardous, and you should be prepared for possible power interruptions and outages." I was relieved that Erin had agreed to let me pick her up and that I had invested in good snow tires for my pickup. The snow had already started by the time I reached the hospital, and I pulled my jacket tightly around me as I went inside. I dropped Lane's crutches with the duty nurse and waited for several minutes before Erin arrived. She looked exhausted, and the gentle smile that I loved was nowhere in evidence. "Hey, Erin. Are you okay?" "I'm fine. I just had a long shift, but I am ready to head out." She came up to me and gave me a hesitant look. "Actually, I could really use a hug if that's alright." Without a word, I wrapped my arms around her, and she buried her face in my sweater. Hidden from the world by the folds of my jacket, I felt her body start to shake. The tremors lasted for a minute before they gentled and then finally stopped. I looked out the window at the falling snow to give her a moment to compose herself. "Let's head to Gran's house. This weather isn't going to get better any time soon." With that, we got in my truck and started the drive up to Good Hart. Erin sat in silence and looked out the window. "If you want to talk, I probably can't help with doctor problems; but I am a good listener." It took Erin a minute before she opened up. "Most of the time, I love being a pediatrician. Kids come to me scared and in pain, and I help them to get better. But sometimes, it's just too much. Around midnight last night, an ambulance brought in a mother and daughter. Her boyfriend had been drinking; and he got violent. The little girl tried to protect her mother and; and; "It's one thing to treat a grown woman, you know. I mean it's still pretty bad, but; that little girl. Fuck. One thing I've learned from this job is that monsters are real." I wanted to give Erin another hug, but since I was driving, I just reached over to take her hand. "I'm sorry." My words seemed so incredibly inadequate; considering what she had just dealt with; but she squeezed my hand. "Thanks for listening." We drove on in silence, and by the time we pulled into Wilma's laneway, Erin was gently snoring with her head against the window. I stopped as close as I could to the house before lifting her out of the cab. She tucked her head into my shoulder, and I carried her inside, where Wilma was already busy in the kitchen. She came out to greet us, and I spoke to her in a low voice. "Erin had a very tough night. I think some rest will do her a world of good." Wilma helped Erin out of her boots and coat and then showed us through to the guest bedroom, where I laid Erin on the bed. The room was filled with pictures of Erin from when she was younger; standing on the dock with an older but handsome man who I guessed must be Phillip, curled up in a ball on the sofa, book in hand, and smiling in her cap and gown as she graduated. In each picture, I could see hints of the beautiful woman she would become. By the time I returned with the rest of my family, the storm had begun to pick up. Snow drifts were accumulating against the house and shed, so we brought everything with us into the house that we might need for the evening. It took some convincing, but Sharon and I took over in the kitchen while Wilma, Alison, Mary, and Lane started a game of Scrabble in the living room. Once the preparations were well underway, I laid in as much wood for the fireplace as I could. With the high winds and heavy snow, I was worried that we might lose power, and I wanted to make sure that we prepared, just in case. The radiators and boiler would provide almost no heat if there was a prolonged power outage, but the fireplace had a high-efficiency insert that would keep the house warm, as long as we built up a good bed of coals. Lane insisted on helping me with the firewood, and after a half dozen trips to the woodshed and back, we both looked like live-action versions of the abominable snowman. Wilma showed some sympathy for our plight, while our sisters had a good-natured laugh at our expense. By the early afternoon, dinner was almost ready, and Wilma sent me to wake Erin. She had barely moved since I had tucked her in and seemed so peaceful in her sleep. I leaned over and spoke softly to her until she opened her eyes. After a moment of confusion, she broke into a shy smile. "I guess we made it to Gran's." "That we did, we got here close to six hours ago." Her eyes flew open, and she tried to get up until I reassured her. "We've got things under control. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. Take your time; and maybe give yourself a few minutes for that pillow line on your cheek to fade." I turned to leave, so she could have some privacy, but she reached out and took my hand. "I just wanted to say thank you again for earlier. I am not used to having someone I can talk to; someone I can trust. It's only been Gran and Grampy, and me for so long, and I didn't want to burden them. But I shouldn't have dumped my troubles on you like that, we barely know each other." "I was just glad that you felt comfortable enough to share how you felt with me. Today was probably the worst day of that little girl's life. I am sure she was terrified, confused, and in a lot of pain. But what she'll remember is the angel who comforted her and treated her with kindness and love. "I need to get back to the kitchen, or I will burn something. Fair warning, this is my first time cooking a Thanksgiving turkey, so you may want to load your plate up with fixings and sides, just in case." As it turned out, the turkey wasn't perfect, but it wasn't that bad, and the gravy was tasty as heck (probably because Wilma made it.) We had mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, and peas as sides, with the obligatory cranberry sauce (from a can). The conversation at dinner was a chaotic mixture of laughter, stories, and the kind of teasing that you only get when you bring five siblings together over a hearty meal. It didn't take Erin long to choose a side in the battle of the siblings, and soon, it was the four girls against Lane and me, with Wilma as our impartial referee. I don't know how Lane felt, but for me, it was worth being ganged up on just to see Erin and my sisters smiling and laughing. Although he tried to hide it, it was clear that Lane still had a bit of a crush on Erin, so I imagined that he was just fine with making her smile as well. For dessert, Erin brought pumpkin and apple pies that she had bought at the bakery in Petoskey, which we ate with some vanilla ice cream from the local creamery. I was sure there would be some dessert left over, given the amount that we all ate for dinner, but somehow, we finished it all. Everyone pitched in with the dishes and then we moved to the living room where we played cards and some more board games. As we played, Mary asked Wilma about some of her more memorable Thanksgivings, and she got a faraway smile. For the next hour, she regaled us with stories of humble times with the kids by the lake and, in later days, fancier celebrations with some of the families that Phillip befriended while they sat for portraits. As our last game of Scrabble ended, Sharon looked at Wilma with a mischievous grin. "Mary was telling me about the dance party that you had a few weeks ago here in your living room. Rumor has it that my big brother can dance! I was hoping, if you asked him nicely, that we could all see him in action." Wilma got up from her chair and started to move toward the hall closet. "Lane, come along and help, please. I am far too old to be carting around a heavy record player." Lane hopped up and went to help Wilma, while the rest of us began to move the furniture out of the way. As Lane set up, Wilma admonished the rest of us. "Remember, there is only one rule about dancing in my house: no wallflowers." With that, Lane started the first song, and I asked Wilma to dance. Alison followed suit, asking Lane to dance, and soon she was teaching him how to lead. Finally, Erin stood as well and gave a deep bow to Mary. "It would be my honor, enchanting lady, if I could have this dance." With a laugh, Mary stood, and soon we were all moving around the room, trying not to bump into each other or step on each other's toes. For the next hour, we danced, laughed, and pretty much forgot about the world outside. Lane even got up the courage to dance with Erin, although he stayed so far away from her that you would have thought she was radioactive. I took a couple of turns with Erin and was amazed at the way she melted into my arms. When we danced, there was a wave of knowing smirks from my sisters and a pleased smile from Wilma, but I didn't care. I could have danced with her all night. Unfortunately, during my third dance with Erin, the real world decided to interrupt our festivities. Erin and I had just started a turn when the power went out. I instinctively pulled Erin into my arms to protect her, and then I leaned in through the darkness and kissed her. She returned the kiss, ran her hand through my hair, and let out a small moan. "Do you think the power will come back on?" Lane's question cut through the fog of my lust and longing. "Probably not until sometime after the storm has passed. So, we should all plan on spending the night here and then figuring things out in the morning." With Wilma's agreement, we got settled in for the evening. After some protest, Wilma agreed to sleep in the guest room since it had a direct line of sight to the thermoelectric stove fan that helped circulate the heat from the fireplace. My three sisters slept in Wilma's bed, both to share body heat and because it was the larger of the two beds in the house. Lane slept on the couch, while Erin and I slept on the floor in front of the fireplace. Erin laid out an older sleeping bag, for comfort, with some bedding and blankets on top. In deference to Lane, she waited until she was under the blankets before she shimmied off her pants, while I stoked the fireplace. I made one more pass through the house, to check on Wilma and my sisters, but it seemed they had already fallen asleep. Even Lane had passed right out, despite his proximity to the pants-less Erin. I set a quiet alarm on my phone for two-hour intervals so that I could get up and add wood to the fire, ensuring that it would last all night. Looking down at the makeshift bed where Erin was watching me, I suddenly felt incredibly shy and anxious. I took my sweater and pants off as quickly as I could and set them on a chair before crawling under the blankets next to her. I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I stayed as far over to one side as I could. I had just settled in when I heard Erin's soft voice from behind me. "You can come a little closer. I won't bite, you know." My brain froze with indecision, but my heart knew the score and it started beating at a furious rate. I heard her shifting behind me, and I felt an arm wrap itself around my chest. My senses were on fire. The faint scent of lavender from her hair washed over me like a field of wildflowers. "Was everyone safe when you made your patrol?" I slowly rolled over so that my forehead was lightly touching hers, and I could see the flickering of the fire reflected in her eyes. "I know it's silly, but I can't sleep until I know that everyone I love is safe. Even when she is away at college, Alison texts me each night to let me know she is okay. I will make another round later after I stoke the fire." "It's not silly at all; I feel safe when I'm with you too.  Why don't you tell me your story, Davis Crawford." She must have felt me stiffen, and she started to lightly brush her fingertips through the hair on the back of my neck. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable with me yet, but I would like to hear it someday when you're ready." We sat in silence for another few minutes, while the tension slowly drained from my body. It had been over 15 years; since before the drugs and alcohol got too bad with my mother; since someone had touched me with kindness and love, and I was helpless before the gentle onslaught of Erin's fingers. Eventually, I started talking. "Things weren't always bad with Mom; I remember there being more laughter than anger when I was little. She was very beautiful, and there was a procession of men in her life, even back then, but most of them treated me well. I guess they wanted to make a good impression on her. When I was four or five, though, she took up with a man from a rougher crowd. She started in with the drinking and drugs, and they never really stopped. She got pregnant with that man, and Alison was born. From there, it was like a rock sliding down the side of a hill. It starts slowly, but soon it's rolling downhill in leaps and bounds. "After Sharon was born, fewer men came around. My mom was still beautiful, but how many guys are interested in a single mother who has three kids from three different men? I had just turned ten when she left me in charge for the weekend and flew down to Vegas with some friends from the club where she waitressed and danced. A bit more than nine months later, she had Mary. "The one thing I can say for my mom is that she mostly managed to stay clean while she was pregnant. But once Mary arrived, the hill got steeper, and the rock started plummeting downwards. As fewer men showed an interest in her, Mom had to blame someone, and we kids were handy targets. That's when the hitting started. I learned pretty quickly that she didn't much care who she hit, so I made sure that I was always close at hand, to try and spare the little ones. If she was going to throw plates at someone, I figured it had better be me. "By the time I was 12, I was the only one caring for my siblings. When Mom came home drunk or stoned after her shift at the bar, I would steal enough of her tip money to buy food for my sisters' lunches. That was the worst of it, and I didn't think that we would make it through. I am not sure we would have without our landlord, Mr. Johnson. "He lived in the apartment below us and would take us in on the weekends when my mother was out with her boyfriends, feed us dinner, and let us watch a little television. I never found out why he lived such a lonely life, but he helped me keep our family together until I was old enough to handle things myself, so I will always be grateful to him." I could see tears starting to pool in the corner of Erin's eyes. "You don't need to hear the rest of this;" Erin stopped me mid-sentence by kissing my lips. "You never got to be a kid, Davis. My whole life I felt sorry for myself because my parents didn't want or care for me, but at least I had Gran and Grampy. You had no one." Even though we were lying on an old lumpy sleeping bag on a rough hardwood floor with only a fireplace for heat, I had never felt safer in my life than I did with her right then. To be continued in part 3. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 2 Dancing, and other forms of sentimentality. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected.  As we finished the prep work, I asked Wilma about her day with Mary. "She is a good kid but is carrying a lot of anger and shame. We spent most of the day getting in touch with that anger. It takes some people years before they can express their emotions through art; it took her about five minutes. But we had to take some breaks to clean up the paint splatters afterward before they stained." "Oh shit! Sorry about that. I can pay to replace anything that;" "Nothing to apologize for; I asked her to express how she felt, and she did it in the way that felt right to her." "Well, I appreciate your taking the time. I am just her big brother; I feel so lost when it comes to parenting." "Being a parent doesn't mean that you know any more than anyone else, and it certainly doesn't mean that you know any better. For what it's worth, I think you are doing a fine job with your family. I know that you don't have your parents around to say it, but this old woman is mighty proud of who you are and of how you have stepped up for your brother and sisters. They are very lucky to have you." I turned away so that Wilma wouldn't see me getting choked up. I couldn't remember the last time that someone had said they were proud of me. Soon enough, though, it was dinner time, and Erin came into the kitchen with that same look of amusement on her face. "Sorry to bother the chef, but Lane needs some help that only a big brother can provide." When I gave her a quizzical look, she blushed. "It seems like he is going through puberty, which can pose; some new challenges. When I was assessing his ankle, he; well, indicated his interest in me in a way that can be difficult to hide, particularly while wearing sweatpants. It's natural for his body to react that way at that age, and it's nothing for him to feel badly about, but he was mortified. I think he could use a bit of brotherly guidance and understanding." I went to the living room and saw that Lane was curled up on the couch and looked like he was fighting back tears. "How are you doing, Buddy?" He couldn't even look at me he was so embarrassed. "I am so sorry; I just couldn't help it. I don't know why it started to get bigger, and I wanted it to stop, and it wouldn't and then she saw me, and;" he continued as he fought back a sob. "Can we just go home?" "Erin is a doctor. She knows how the human body works and has seen that kind of thing a hundred times. She isn't mad at you or embarrassed. She just feels bad that you feel so bad. This is just part of getting older and growing up. "Did I ever tell you about what happened in Miss Iron's class when I was a freshman? Miss Iron was a bit of a legend among the male students at our local high school. She was the youngest and prettiest teacher, by far, and even though she always dressed professionally, the clothing style had yet to be invented that could fully conceal her bountiful natural endowment. "Well, I liked Miss Irons a lot. She was one of the few teachers who looked past my difficulty with reading and writing. So, I developed a little crush on her, which was fine until the inevitable; hmm, physical demonstration of my crush; happened in class one day, just before she asked me to collect everyone's quizzes. I tried to delay, I tried to ask a friend to do it instead, but eventually, I had to stand up. It took me until my junior year to live that one down." As Lane listened to my story, he turned to face me and his second-hand embarrassment for me helped to push his embarrassment to the side. "So, what happened?" "Miss Irons was lovely and kind like she always was, but I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me or to get hit by a bolt of lightning. Things would have been fine if she hadn't mentioned what happened to the principal, who called Mom. She didn't find the story funny at all." I hadn't thought of the aftermath when I started telling Lane this particular story, but as they say, might as well put it in four-wheel drive and keep going. "Mom was mad?" "By then, Mom was pretty much always angry. I did my best to keep her away from you and the girls when she got that way, but yeah; she was mad." "Are you mad at me?" "No, Bud, I'm not. In a few years, once your embarrassment has died down a little, I will tease you mercilessly about this because that's what brothers do; and maybe threaten to tell your girlfriend, if you fall behind on your chores or homework. But I will never get mad at you for something that you can't control. And I promise that Erin isn't mad at you either." Just then, Mary poked her head in to tell us that dinner was on the table. "Are you safe now, or do you need a few more minutes." "I'm good. Thanks, Dad." After I helped Lane hobble into the dining room, we got down to the business of eating and teasing each other, but not necessarily in that order. It felt good; almost like what I imagined a real family would feel like. Eventually, the conversation turned to more serious matters, though, and Erin led off the questions. "So, how do you know Gran, and why are you wearing Grampy's favorite sweater? And, for what it's worth, I don't remember him filling it out in quite the way that you do." I blushed a bit as Wilma jumped in. "If Phillip had filled out that sweater like young Davis here, it wouldn't have stayed on him for very long, I can tell you that." "Gran!" Erin exclaimed, laughing while sounding scandalized. "I didn't need that mental image. Heck, none of us needed that mental image." "Oh, don't you worry, Dear. He still filled it out well enough, and it looked equally good on our bedroom floor." We were pretty much all blushing at that point, which I think was Wilma's objective, so I quickly changed the topic. "I am just your mother's plumber. I came out to fix her boiler and then finished the job earlier this week when a couple of parts came in that I needed." Wilma jumped in at that point and added her two cents to my story. "He also brought me my groceries and we had a lovely conversation. He is a real Renaissance gentleman, a rarity these days." Erin looked grateful but concerned. "Did you have enough money to cover the bill, Gran? You know I can help if you need;" I tried to jump in before Wilma could reply. "No need to worry, the bill was paid in full;" "Hogwash," Wilma exclaimed as I tried to finish, turning to Mary before she continued. "Your brother wouldn't let me pay him a cent for the work that he did. Not even for the parts that needed to be replaced! He is a very nice boy but a terrible businessman." I turned to Erin for support. "I figured your Gran has enough going on right now with her health and all. It was the least I could do to help her out." Erin looked at me with a strange expression on her face. I didn't have much experience with women, so I figured I must have made her angry somehow. Most of my interactions with women, including my sisters, seemed to end with them being upset with me for one reason or another, but she didn't sound angry when she spoke. "Thank you, Davis, that was very sweet of you." "Yeah, well; you see, it's just; pass the fish, please." "That still doesn't explain why you're wearing Grampy's favorite sweater. When I was a little girl, I used to curl up in Grampy's lap and snuggle into that sweater as he read to me. He was wearing it when I danced my first dance with him in front of the fireplace. Do you remember that old record player, Gran? You used to bring it out and we would waltz around the living room to Moon River." "I still have that record player here somewhere, let me go see if I can find it." Erin started to protest, but it was too late. "To finish answering your question, Erin, we were here today because your Gran offered to mentor Mary. I tried to politely decline, but your Gran is pretty persistent when she wants to be." "That sounds like Gran. Most of the time when she makes a suggestion, it is really a command." "While we are asking questions, how is Lane's ankle?" "It's pretty badly sprained, and he will need to use crutches to walk for the next couple of weeks. You should bring him to the hospital to get some X-rays done as well, to make sure that he doesn't have any fractures." I could feel myself deflate as she mentioned X-rays. "I'm not trying to be cheap, but are the X-rays absolutely necessary? We don't have the best insurance; we got it through the exchange. I guess it's better than nothing, but the deductible is pretty high, and my other sister, Alison, her college tuition is due soon. But if you say it's important, I will put in some extra hours to make it work." It didn't usually bother me that we were poor. Heck, most everyone we knew, except the McDougals, was poor. But it hit home when you had to tell a beautiful doctor with bright amber eyes that you couldn't afford an X-ray for your little brother unless it was urgent. "Tell you what. I will be working at the hospital in Petoskey tomorrow, so why don't you bring Lane by, and I will take care of him? I will make sure that he gets a pair of loaner crutches for as long as he needs them." "You don't need to do that for us." Erin gave me another one of her looks, this one I was more familiar with; I was pretty sure it was annoyance. "So, just to be clear, you can look after my Gran, fix her boiler for free, and bring her groceries whenever you feel like it, but I can't look after your brother and make sure that his ankle is treated properly?" "Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a bit of a jackass. I'm sorry." "Apology accepted. Come by the hospital at 11 AM tomorrow." Before we could continue, the sound of a 45 playing on an old record player filled the house. You could hear the hisses and pops before Ella Fitzgerald's voice began to sing "Dream a Little Dream of Me." Chapter 3. We got up from the table and followed the music back to the living room. I helped Lane out of his chair while he half-hobbled and half-hopped along beside me. Wilma had set her ancient record player up in the corner beside a stack of old 45s, and she had a faraway look in her eyes as she looked out the picture window toward the lake. "I think it's time for me to ask the prettiest girl in the place to dance," I said, as my eyes swept across the room. "But unfortunately, it's a three-way tie. So, will you do me the honor?" I said as I held out my hand to Wilma. "I haven't danced since Phillip passed. You know, we used to dance together every Friday night. It didn't matter where we were or what we were doing, we would always make time to dance at least one song together, even if the music was only in our heads." "I imagine I will be a pretty poor partner compared to Phillip, but I will try not to step on your toes." Wilma and I ended up dancing a slow foxtrot to "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole. She smiled at me as we slowly circled the living room. "You're a very good dancer, young man." "Our mother taught me when I was very young." Before she began with the drugs and men, our mother had been a showgirl in New York and then Las Vegas. When she got pregnant with me, she moved back to Mackinaw City and started teaching ballroom dancing at a local studio. By the time I was five, I was her practice partner of choice, and she always insisted that I lead, despite being only half her size. "The man always leads, Darling, that's just the way of the world." I was hardly a man at the time, but I never disagreed with my mother when she was in a good mood, because I knew it could shift in an instant. So, I learned to dance, and I learned to lead. The memories came flooding back as I guided Wilma into a soft over-sway, and she smiled with delight. "Oh my, you do know how to dance!" I couldn't help but smile back. "I can't take all the credit. I think Phillip must have infused this sweater with his fancy footwork." As the song ended, I took a step back and did my best to give Wilma a gracious bow. "It was a pleasure dancing with you, my lady." "The pleasure was all mine, good sir." I turned toward Mary and held out my hand. She hesitated before Wilma declared, "There are no wallflowers in this house." Mary slowly stood but looked anxious as I took her hand. "Davis, I don't know how to dance. Mom was; she was too far gone to teach me by the time I was old enough to learn." "That's okay," I reassured her. "If there is anything that Mom made sure of, it's that I know how to lead. Just relax, and I will guide you through it." Wilma helped Lane, who had taken over as DJ, to choose a slower song so that Mary would feel more comfortable, and I heard the opening bars of "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. I started to lead Mary through a slow rumba, and she picked up the steps very quickly. She was a natural. I felt a sudden stab of regret as we moved together across the floor. "I'm sorry. I should have made time to teach you to dance. But the last few years, it has just taken everything I have to keep us;" "It's alright. You've had other things on your mind. And look; you are teaching me how to dance, now." As Mary grew more confident, I guided her through a simple underarm turn, and we ended with a dip, which made her giggle and earned a round of applause from the others. Finally, I turned to Erin, who was sitting on the couch beside Lane. I suddenly felt very shy and, for the first time that evening, she looked nervous as well. "Would you dance with me, Erin?" She didn't reply but stood and took my hand. We waited for a moment while Wilma and Lane chose a new 45 and then listened to the pop and hiss as it started to play. Soon, an alto saxophone introduced the Henri Mancini version of "Moon River," and we started a slow waltz. Although there was space between us, it was bridged by an electric charge that connected and drew us together. Even though I spent most of the dance looking over Erin's shoulder, every detail of her beauty was etched in my memory, and I felt a warm breeze pass between us, raising goosebumps on my skin. We barely noticed the pause as the song ended, and a new one began until Etta James began to sing. At last, my love has come along My lonely days are over And life is like a song The song was in 4/4 time, so I switched to a foxtrot and Erin followed as we glided across the smooth wood of the living room floor. I was so caught up in the moment, and in Erin, that I led her through a turn that transitioned into an over sway, before I stepped backward, allowing her to gently pivot into me. Our eyes met and I was lost in them again. Before we could break the spell, a heavy gust of wind shook the house, and the power flickered out. The room went dark, which sharpened my remaining senses. Suddenly, the warmth of Erin's breath on my neck felt like wildfire across my skin. We were motionless for a three-heartbeat eternity before the lights flickered and came back on. I let go of Erin and felt all of my longing and awkwardness rush back in. "Thank you, Erin. That was;" I couldn't finish; words didn't seem enough to express how I felt. "I should check the breakers and make sure that everything is alright, and then we should go. Why don't I wash these clothes and drop them back for you later." Wilma just smiled and shook her head. "If you like them, please keep them. Otherwise, they will just grow old and musty like me." A little while later, we said our goodbyes, but I promised to bring Lane to the hospital the next morning. Wilma told Mary that she would see her on Wednesday after school and again the next Sunday. I was expecting Mary to protest, but she just gave a meek, "Yes, Wilma." I was nervous when I took Lane to the hospital the next day. The deductible on our insurance was high enough that we paid for pretty much anything less serious than a severed limb out of pocket. Erin, however, was as good as her word. After the X-ray confirmed that there were no breaks or fractures in the bones around his ankle, she re-wrapped it and arranged for a pair of loaner crutches that he could use for as long as he needed them. Before we left, Erin asked me if I wanted to grab a coffee in the cafeteria, to which I readily agreed. I gave my phone to Lane so he could amuse himself while Erin and I talked. "I just wanted to say how much I appreciate what you did for Gran. I do what I can, but I spend half my time at the Children's Hospital down in Grand Rapids right now and I am often on call while I am here. I just don't have the time to give her the help that she needs." "Honestly, it's no big deal. I do a lot of work around Good Hart since the bigger plumbing companies don't like to travel that far, so I don't mind looking in on her while I am there. And she seems to have taken a real interest in Mary, so the least I can do is to bring her some groceries and help around the place a bit." Erin pursed her lips and looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. "The 'least you can do' is more than the rest of our family can be bothered to do put together, so thank you." "I meant to ask you about that. What did your Gran do to end up so isolated from the rest of your family?" "The rest of my family is; there is no nice way to put it, they're snobs. None of them have any interest in spending time 'up north' as they call it, and they can't wait for Gran to move into a retirement home and die so they can get their money and forget about this place. That's why no one comes to visit Gran anymore, even for Thanksgiving; it's part of their campaign to convince her to sell her land to the McDougals. Before you came along, I thought they were going to succeed." "Well, excuse my language, but fuck them. I don't know Wilma that well, but I will do what I can to make sure that she gets to spend her remaining days in the place that she loves." "That's easy to say, but harder to do once the McDougals and their minions start coming by your place, offering you money and making threats unless you back off." "Well, if they do, they will find out what every teacher who ever taught me learned the hard way. I am bad at taking orders and even worse at following instructions. I am not afraid of the McDougal boys." My exclamation brought a smile to Erin's pretty face. I decided that I would be willing to do quite a lot to see that smile on her face again. But there was one thing I still didn't understand. "Why aren't you on board with the rest of your family? You must be under a lot of pressure to abandon your Gran like the rest of them." "My father, Gran's youngest son, Max, died shortly after I was born, and my mother moved the family to California where she remarried into a family that had a little money but a great deal of pretension and ambition. My mother picked up that insatiable need for money and status like it was a virus. "When I was a child, my mother and stepfather spent summers and holidays traveling the world, staying in places where children weren't welcome. Although they wanted nothing to do with Gran and Grampy and their 'vermin-filled shack in the middle of nowhere', they were more than happy to leave me with them while they were away. "They would put me on a plane to Grand Rapids while they jetted off to their spas and their fine dining. Gran and Grampy were the only people who cared for me, and they became my whole world. "When I was 14, I was staying with Gran and Grampy, and I caught a fever that was so bad that I nearly died. It was a pretty grim time. My parents even thought about flying home from Monaco to be with me. They didn't, but it was the only time in my entire childhood that they considered it. But I will always remember how kind the doctors and nurses were to me when I was sick. That's why I became a pediatrician and moved home." "Isn't California home?" "Home is where the people that you love are, and so this will always be my home. Or it will be until Gran passes on, anyway." We sat in silence for a while, sipping our coffee. Before long, it was time for me to go. "This might sound crazy, but since the rest of your family aren't going to be here to celebrate Thanksgiving with your Gran, how about you and I try to give her one more Thanksgiving to remember." Erin brightened at the idea, and the smile returned to her face. "That would be amazing! Why don't I give you my number, and we can figure out how to make it happen!" Chapter 4. For the next few weeks, Mary continued to meet with Wilma on Wednesdays and Sundays. I would often take the opportunity to bring her groceries or other supplies while I dropped Mary off and, if the weather was agreeable, do some fishing. Once he could walk without crutches, Lane came along as well, in quest of another monster steelhead. Unfortunately, all he caught was some yellow perch and rock bass, but it was nice to spend the day with him down on the dock. I saw Erin a few times at Wilma's as we made plans for Thanksgiving. She seemed to particularly enjoy talking with me while I split firewood out by the shed. It was hard work, and I was often drenched with sweat by the time I was done, but she didn't seem to mind. And she worked while we talked, helping to stack the larger pieces and collecting the smaller ones for kindling. The one point of contention in our plan was how Erin would get to Wilma's on Thanksgiving Day. She was slated to work a 12-hour shift the evening before, ending at seven in the morning, and she worried that if she went home to rest, she would sleep through the entire day. Her solution was to drive out to Wilma's after her shift and catch a few hours of sleep when she got there. I thought that driving that far after working all night seemed like a terrible idea, so I offered to give her a ride instead. She did not like that one bit. "I don't want you to make an extra trip when I am perfectly capable of driving myself." It sounded like she was digging in for a fight, so I tried a different tactic to convince her. "I need to stop at the hospital anyway, to return Lane's crutches. I can kill two birds with one stone and pick you up at the same time." She didn't buy that rationale either so, reluctantly, I resorted to the truth. "I am sure you're a great driver, but if you drive yourself, I will be up that morning anyway, worrying that you are safe. I know it doesn't make sense, but I have been looking after my siblings for so long its second nature for me to worry, and I can't seem to turn it off. So please, let me pick you up. But for me, not for you. And do you know how rarely I get to be gallant these days? I will feel like your knight in shining armor." That finally got a laugh from Erin. "Alright, you win. Why don't you pick me up at 7:15 at the hospital? You can sweep me up onto your trusty steed and carry me away to Gran's house." "If by trusty steed you mean rusty old GMC truck, then it's a deal." The morning of Thanksgiving dawned chilly and gray, with a cold wind blowing in off the lake. I was up early to make sure that I made it to the hospital on time, and I was listening to the local AM country station as I drove when the DJ started his break. "A happy Thanksgiving to all our listeners. If you're on the roads today, be aware that there is a severe weather warning in effect for the area north of Cadillac and into the upper peninsula. We're expecting a combination of high winds and lake-effect snow to make driving hazardous, and you should be prepared for possible power interruptions and outages." I was relieved that Erin had agreed to let me pick her up and that I had invested in good snow tires for my pickup. The snow had already started by the time I reached the hospital, and I pulled my jacket tightly around me as I went inside. I dropped Lane's crutches with the duty nurse and waited for several minutes before Erin arrived. She looked exhausted, and the gentle smile that I loved was nowhere in evidence. "Hey, Erin. Are you okay?" "I'm fine. I just had a long shift, but I am ready to head out." She came up to me and gave me a hesitant look. "Actually, I could really use a hug if that's alright." Without a word, I wrapped my arms around her, and she buried her face in my sweater. Hidden from the world by the folds of my jacket, I felt her body start to shake. The tremors lasted for a minute before they gentled and then finally stopped. I looked out the window at the falling snow to give her a moment to compose herself. "Let's head to Gran's house. This weather isn't going to get better any time soon." With that, we got in my truck and started the drive up to Good Hart. Erin sat in silence and looked out the window. "If you want to talk, I probably can't help with doctor problems; but I am a good listener." It took Erin a minute before she opened up. "Most of the time, I love being a pediatrician. Kids come to me scared and in pain, and I help them to get better. But sometimes, it's just too much. Around midnight last night, an ambulance brought in a mother and daughter. Her boyfriend had been drinking; and he got violent. The little girl tried to protect her mother and; and; "It's one thing to treat a grown woman, you know. I mean it's still pretty bad, but; that little girl. Fuck. One thing I've learned from this job is that monsters are real." I wanted to give Erin another hug, but since I was driving, I just reached over to take her hand. "I'm sorry." My words seemed so incredibly inadequate; considering what she had just dealt with; but she squeezed my hand. "Thanks for listening." We drove on in silence, and by the time we pulled into Wilma's laneway, Erin was gently snoring with her head against the window. I stopped as close as I could to the house before lifting her out of the cab. She tucked her head into my shoulder, and I carried her inside, where Wilma was already busy in the kitchen. She came out to greet us, and I spoke to her in a low voice. "Erin had a very tough night. I think some rest will do her a world of good." Wilma helped Erin out of her boots and coat and then showed us through to the guest bedroom, where I laid Erin on the bed. The room was filled with pictures of Erin from when she was younger; standing on the dock with an older but handsome man who I guessed must be Phillip, curled up in a ball on the sofa, book in hand, and smiling in her cap and gown as she graduated. In each picture, I could see hints of the beautiful woman she would become. By the time I returned with the rest of my family, the storm had begun to pick up. Snow drifts were accumulating against the house and shed, so we brought everything with us into the house that we might need for the evening. It took some convincing, but Sharon and I took over in the kitchen while Wilma, Alison, Mary, and Lane started a game of Scrabble in the living room. Once the preparations were well underway, I laid in as much wood for the fireplace as I could. With the high winds and heavy snow, I was worried that we might lose power, and I wanted to make sure that we prepared, just in case. The radiators and boiler would provide almost no heat if there was a prolonged power outage, but the fireplace had a high-efficiency insert that would keep the house warm, as long as we built up a good bed of coals. Lane insisted on helping me with the firewood, and after a half dozen trips to the woodshed and back, we both looked like live-action versions of the abominable snowman. Wilma showed some sympathy for our plight, while our sisters had a good-natured laugh at our expense. By the early afternoon, dinner was almost ready, and Wilma sent me to wake Erin. She had barely moved since I had tucked her in and seemed so peaceful in her sleep. I leaned over and spoke softly to her until she opened her eyes. After a moment of confusion, she broke into a shy smile. "I guess we made it to Gran's." "That we did, we got here close to six hours ago." Her eyes flew open, and she tried to get up until I reassured her. "We've got things under control. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. Take your time; and maybe give yourself a few minutes for that pillow line on your cheek to fade." I turned to leave, so she could have some privacy, but she reached out and took my hand. "I just wanted to say thank you again for earlier. I am not used to having someone I can talk to; someone I can trust. It's only been Gran and Grampy, and me for so long, and I didn't want to burden them. But I shouldn't have dumped my troubles on you like that, we barely know each other." "I was just glad that you felt comfortable enough to share how you felt with me. Today was probably the worst day of that little girl's life. I am sure she was terrified, confused, and in a lot of pain. But what she'll remember is the angel who comforted her and treated her with kindness and love. "I need to get back to the kitchen, or I will burn something. Fair warning, this is my first time cooking a Thanksgiving turkey, so you may want to load your plate up with fixings and sides, just in case." As it turned out, the turkey wasn't perfect, but it wasn't that bad, and the gravy was tasty as heck (probably because Wilma made it.) We had mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, and peas as sides, with the obligatory cranberry sauce (from a can). The conversation at dinner was a chaotic mixture of laughter, stories, and the kind of teasing that you only get when you bring five siblings together over a hearty meal. It didn't take Erin long to choose a side in the battle of the siblings, and soon, it was the four girls against Lane and me, with Wilma as our impartial referee. I don't know how Lane felt, but for me, it was worth being ganged up on just to see Erin and my sisters smiling and laughing. Although he tried to hide it, it was clear that Lane still had a bit of a crush on Erin, so I imagined that he was just fine with making her smile as well. For dessert, Erin brought pumpkin and apple pies that she had bought at the bakery in Petoskey, which we ate with some vanilla ice cream from the local creamery. I was sure there would be some dessert left over, given the amount that we all ate for dinner, but somehow, we finished it all. Everyone pitched in with the dishes and then we moved to the living room where we played cards and some more board games. As we played, Mary asked Wilma about some of her more memorable Thanksgivings, and she got a faraway smile. For the next hour, she regaled us with stories of humble times with the kids by the lake and, in later days, fancier celebrations with some of the families that Phillip befriended while they sat for portraits. As our last game of Scrabble ended, Sharon looked at Wilma with a mischievous grin. "Mary was telling me about the dance party that you had a few weeks ago here in your living room. Rumor has it that my big brother can dance! I was hoping, if you asked him nicely, that we could all see him in action." Wilma got up from her chair and started to move toward the hall closet. "Lane, come along and help, please. I am far too old to be carting around a heavy record player." Lane hopped up and went to help Wilma, while the rest of us began to move the furniture out of the way. As Lane set up, Wilma admonished the rest of us. "Remember, there is only one rule about dancing in my house: no wallflowers." With that, Lane started the first song, and I asked Wilma to dance. Alison followed suit, asking Lane to dance, and soon she was teaching him how to lead. Finally, Erin stood as well and gave a deep bow to Mary. "It would be my honor, enchanting lady, if I could have this dance." With a laugh, Mary stood, and soon we were all moving around the room, trying not to bump into each other or step on each other's toes. For the next hour, we danced, laughed, and pretty much forgot about the world outside. Lane even got up the courage to dance with Erin, although he stayed so far away from her that you would have thought she was radioactive. I took a couple of turns with Erin and was amazed at the way she melted into my arms. When we danced, there was a wave of knowing smirks from my sisters and a pleased smile from Wilma, but I didn't care. I could have danced with her all night. Unfortunately, during my third dance with Erin, the real world decided to interrupt our festivities. Erin and I had just started a turn when the power went out. I instinctively pulled Erin into my arms to protect her, and then I leaned in through the darkness and kissed her. She returned the kiss, ran her hand through my hair, and let out a small moan. "Do you think the power will come back on?" Lane's question cut through the fog of my lust and longing. "Probably not until sometime after the storm has passed. So, we should all plan on spending the night here and then figuring things out in the morning." With Wilma's agreement, we got settled in for the evening. After some protest, Wilma agreed to sleep in the guest room since it had a direct line of sight to the thermoelectric stove fan that helped circulate the heat from the fireplace. My three sisters slept in Wilma's bed, both to share body heat and because it was the larger of the two beds in the house. Lane slept on the couch, while Erin and I slept on the floor in front of the fireplace. Erin laid out an older sleeping bag, for comfort, with some bedding and blankets on top. In deference to Lane, she waited until she was under the blankets before she shimmied off her pants, while I stoked the fireplace. I made one more pass through the house, to check on Wilma and my sisters, but it seemed they had already fallen asleep. Even Lane had passed right out, despite his proximity to the pants-less Erin. I set a quiet alarm on my phone for two-hour intervals so that I could get up and add wood to the fire, ensuring that it would last all night. Looking down at the makeshift bed where Erin was watching me, I suddenly felt incredibly shy and anxious. I took my sweater and pants off as quickly as I could and set them on a chair before crawling under the blankets next to her. I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I stayed as far over to one side as I could. I had just settled in when I heard Erin's soft voice from behind me. "You can come a little closer. I won't bite, you know." My brain froze with indecision, but my heart knew the score and it started beating at a furious rate. I heard her shifting behind me, and I felt an arm wrap itself around my chest. My senses were on fire. The faint scent of lavender from her hair washed over me like a field of wildflowers. "Was everyone safe when you made your patrol?" I slowly rolled over so that my forehead was lightly touching hers, and I could see the flickering of the fire reflected in her eyes. "I know it's silly, but I can't sleep until I know that everyone I love is safe. Even when she is away at college, Alison texts me each night to let me know she is okay. I will make another round later after I stoke the fire." "It's not silly at all; I feel safe when I'm with you too.  Why don't you tell me your story, Davis Crawford." She must have felt me stiffen, and she started to lightly brush her fingertips through the hair on the back of my neck. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable with me yet, but I would like to hear it someday when you're ready." We sat in silence for another few minutes, while the tension slowly drained from my body. It had been over 15 years; since before the drugs and alcohol got too bad with my mother; since someone had touched me with kindness and love, and I was helpless before the gentle onslaught of Erin's fingers. Eventually, I started talking. "Things weren't always bad with Mom; I remember there being more laughter than anger when I was little. She was very beautiful, and there was a procession of men in her life, even back then, but most of them treated me well. I guess they wanted to make a good impression on her. When I was four or five, though, she took up with a man from a rougher crowd. She started in with the drinking and drugs, and they never really stopped. She got pregnant with that man, and Alison was born. From there, it was like a rock sliding down the side of a hill. It starts slowly, but soon it's rolling downhill in leaps and bounds. "After Sharon was born, fewer men came around. My mom was still beautiful, but how many guys are interested in a single mother who has three kids from three different men? I had just turned ten when she left me in charge for the weekend and flew down to Vegas with some friends from the club where she waitressed and danced. A bit more than nine months later, she had Mary. "The one thing I can say for my mom is that she mostly managed to stay clean while she was pregnant. But once Mary arrived, the hill got steeper, and the rock started plummeting downwards. As fewer men showed an interest in her, Mom had to blame someone, and we kids were handy targets. That's when the hitting started. I learned pretty quickly that she didn't much care who she hit, so I made sure that I was always close at hand, to try and spare the little ones. If she was going to throw plates at someone, I figured it had better be me. "By the time I was 12, I was the only one caring for my siblings. When Mom came home drunk or stoned after her shift at the bar, I would steal enough of her tip money to buy food for my sisters' lunches. That was the worst of it, and I didn't think that we would make it through. I am not sure we would have without our landlord, Mr. Johnson. "He lived in the apartment below us and would take us in on the weekends when my mother was out with her boyfriends, feed us dinner, and let us watch a little television. I never found out why he lived such a lonely life, but he helped me keep our family together until I was old enough to handle things myself, so I will always be grateful to him." I could see tears starting to pool in the corner of Erin's eyes. "You don't need to hear the rest of this;" Erin stopped me mid-sentence by kissing my lips. "You never got to be a kid, Davis. My whole life I felt sorry for myself because my parents didn't want or care for me, but at least I had Gran and Grampy. You had no one." Even though we were lying on an old lumpy sleeping bag on a rough hardwood floor with only a fireplace for heat, I had never felt safer in my life than I did with her right then. To be continued in part 3. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Nov. 9, 2025 ~ Host Dave Lorenz talks about the plans travelers can make for holiday visits in Michigan's unique towns like Marshall, Grand Rapids, Petoskey, and Grand Haven. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See https://pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Listen to the premiere episode of "Genesis Next Steps Podcast, hosted by NextGen Pastor Johnny Whitcomb.  In this episode, Lead Pastor Norm Byers reflects on the church's 20-year journey and how emphasizing God's calling rather than gathering crowds has shaped the Genesis movement. Norm also shares a forward-looking plan that emphasizes restructuring leadership for greater fruitfulness.  Norm will focus on multiplying congregations and ministries and coaching our site pastors. A pastor will be hired to lead the Petoskey congregation and champion deeper discipleship.  The search for a new Petoskey Site Pastor will be a “slow is the go” process.  We are committed to a serious, prayerful process to find a candidate with godly character, proven competence, and relational chemistry.

Welcome friends to Season 9! We're kicking things off a little differently this time... Join us for the very first live live-streamed episode, hosted by the Petoskey C.S. Lewis Festival.[Show Notes]

Jeffrey Mosher welcomes Julian Delos Reyes, company president, Craig Ryan Fine Clothing, started in Grand Blanc, and now at multiple Michigan locations. Welcome Julian, for the Michigan business community, bring us briefly up to speed on the company. Julian, congratulations on the new location! Why was Downtown Lansing the right next step for Craig Ryan Fine Clothing? You've expanded across Michigan over two decades—what makes this Lansing store feel like a personal milestone for you? What can shoppers expect from the new store in terms of experience, atmosphere, and selection? How does the Atrium Building's history—and Lansing's future—align with the Craig Ryan brand? As someone who grew up in the area and went to MSU, what does it mean to bring your business back home? » Visit MBN website: www.michiganbusinessnetwork.com/ » Watch MBN's YouTube: www.youtube.com/@MichiganbusinessnetworkMBN » Like MBN: www.facebook.com/mibiznetwork » Follow MBN: twitter.com/MIBizNetwork/ » MBN Instagram: www.instagram.com/mibiznetwork/ Craig Ryan Fine Clothing Announces Expansion of Fifth Location in Downtown Lansing Michigan State alum returns to open new store in Michigan's Downtown LANSING, Mich. (June 18, 2025) - Craig Ryan Fine Clothing is proud to announce the opening of its fifth location in Downtown Lansing in July 2025, bringing over two decades of elevated style and personalized service to Michigan's Capital City. Founded in Grand Blanc more than 20 years ago, Craig Ryan has grown to include locations in Harbor Springs, Petoskey, and Birmingham. Located in the historic Atrium Building on Washington Square, the Lansing store marks the next chapter in the company's steady expansion and long-standing commitment to delivering a premium shopping experience. This opening is also a personal milestone for company president Julian Delos Reyes, who grew up in the Lansing area and is a Michigan State University alumnus. “This feels like a homecoming,” said Delos Reyes. “I'm excited to reconnect with the community and bring our signature blend of style and service to a city that means so much to me.” The new location will feel both fresh and familiar, with a team of experienced professionals that customers will recognize. Shoppers can expect the same curated selection, personalized attention, and warm atmosphere that have defined Craig Ryan since day one. “The Atrium Building is an important part of Downtown Lansing's history, and with the construction of New Vision Lansing underway, it will continue to be integral to its future,” said Paul Gentilozzi, president and CEO of Gentilozzi Real Estate and New Vision Lansing LLC. “Welcoming Craig Ryan Fine Clothing to this historic space is an exciting addition. Craig Ryan will bring value not just to future residents, but to anyone who shops, visits or invests in Downtown Lansing.” Craig Ryan joins a list of new tenured tenants in the Atrium Building, including Clark Hill - Lansing, Middle Village, Downtown Lansing Inc., Element Massage, Craig Corey Vacations, Michigan's Children and more. The store will feature a full range of fine men's clothing, including standout brands like Peter Millar, Canali, Kiton, Jack Victor, Eton and more. About Craig Ryan Fine Clothing Craig Ryan Fine Clothing has been setting the standard in style and service for over 20 years. Known for its commitment to quality, timeless fashion, and personalized customer care, Craig Ryan offers a curated selection of fine menswear and accessories. With locations in Birmingham, Grand Blanc, Harbor Springs, and Petoskey and a new storefront coming soon to Lansing, Craig Ryan continues to expand its legacy across Michigan. For more information, visit craigryan.com.

“I didn't think if I stayed, I'd be alive'—that electrifying moment, when Konstance Patton revealed how everything changed the moment she stepped out of Detroit, sets the tone for this compelling episode. In a deeply resonant conversation with Khary Frazier, Patton weaves together the threads of her Black Detroit legacy—from ancestral roots in the Carolinas, Virginia, and New Orleans to intergenerational artistry that stretches back to her grandmother's kiln in Brightmoor and massive bead‑worked Last Supper in a Petoskey museum. She reflects on formative childhood memories riding a bike past seven‑mile gravesites, the comfort of her grandmother's quilts and pottery, and how early encounters with classical violin and swimming taught discipline and collaboration. Through her travels—from a shocking culinary awakening in London to soulful inspirations in Egypt, India, Italy—Patton found her voice in visual storytelling. Now, drenched in paint at her annual ‘potluck' gatherings at Detroit's Talking Doll Studios, her immersive events bring together healing, yoga, music, food, and multi‑generational Black creatives. She tears back the curtain on how grief, burnout, and pandemic‑era protests catalyzed her bold new goddess sculptures—resin and bronze Venus figures cast with beads and needles from her lineage—and how her guerrilla‑style Imani portrait in NYC still stops strangers in their tracks. With upcoming shows at the DIA and deep ties to Detroit institutions like Bird's bar and Talking Doll Studios, this episode captures a living legacy—rooted in the past, dynamically shaping the future of Legacy Black Detroit. Detroit is Different is a podcast hosted by Khary Frazier covering people adding to the culture of an American Classic city. Visit www.detroitisdifferent.com to hear, see and experience more of what makes Detroit different. Follow, like, share, and subscribe to the Podcast on iTunes, Google Play, and Sticher. Comment, suggest and connect with the podcast by emailing info@detroitisdifferent.com

Heidi Kleinsmith Salter, CS, from Petoskey, Michigan, USA

Phylicia Masonheimer is founder of Every Woman a Theologian, an online ministry teaching Christians how to know what they believe, live it boldly and communicate it graciously. She is an author, blogger and host of the chart-topping podcast Verity with Phylicia Masonheimer. Phylicia and her husband Josh live in Petoskey, Michigan, with their three children Adeline, Geneva and Ivan.

Phylicia Masonheimer is founder of Every Woman a Theologian, an online ministry teaching Christians how to know what they believe, live it boldly and communicate it graciously. She is an author, blogger and host of the chart-topping podcast Verity with Phylicia Masonheimer. Phylicia and her husband Josh live in Petoskey, Michigan, with their three children Adeline, Geneva and Ivan.

In this episode Armin and I discuss how we work with our artistic rhythm to increase our productivity in our studios. It has to do with developing good habits and attitudes toward hard work. Keeping art a priority in our lives has always been so important to us both, but we often handle the end game differently. Armin has a resolute discipline that has been successful for him and I am much more of a free spirit who embraces the unknown and unpredictable. There are pros and cons to our handling of the art journey. Take a listen!We would like to invite you to our 100th episode Zoom meeting where we will record a Q and A from the attending audience members and also hear a bit about their artwork.It's a celebration party. The Zoom conversation will take place on Wednesday, June 4, 2025 at 7pm Eastern time. To register for the Zoom session Click Here. Show NotesLinks to classes this summer. Art Ladders Class CollectionVal's Abstraction Workshop in Grosse Pointe, MI June 14 and 15 Val's In-Person Printmaking Workshop at her studio. 6/28&29Armin's In-Person Workshop at Flint Institute of Art 8/4-6 Armin's In-Person iPhone for the Traveler Flint Institute of Art 6/14Armin's Contour Drawing at Crooked Tree Art in Petoskey 8/14-15Armin's iPhone Workshop at Crooked Tree Art in Petoskey 8/12-13

It's Wednesday, April 9th, A.D. 2025. This is The Worldview in 5 Minutes heard on 125 radio stations and at www.TheWorldview.com.  I'm Adam McManus. (Adam@TheWorldview.com) By Jonathan Clark and Adam McManus Ugandan Muslim husband kills newly converted Christian wife A Muslim man in Uganda stabbed his wife to death after she converted to Christianity last month. Forty-one-year-old Nasiimu Mirembe was the mother of six children. She put her faith in Christ on March 21st after hearing the Gospel from a friend. On March 23rd, she attended a church service for the first time. Tragically, her husband attacked her on her way home from church.  Mirembe's friend told Morning Star News, “Immediately he started slapping his wife. I started screaming and shouting for help. [He] then removed a long knife and started cutting her with it.” She died from her wounds the next day. Psalm 116:15 says, “Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of His saints.” Church attendance up in United Kingdom A new report from the Bible Society found that church attendance is growing in the United Kingdom. Twelve percent of adults in England and Wales attended church at least monthly last year, up from 8% in 2018. Young people, especially young men, are leading the growth. Sixteen percent of 18 to 24-year-olds attend church monthly, up from 4% in 2018. Church attendance by young men grew from 4% to 21% over the same time period.  In Titus 2:1, 2, and 6, the Apostle Paul wrote, “Speak the things which are proper for sound doctrine: that the older men be sober, reverent, temperate, sound in faith, in love, in patience. … Likewise, exhort the young men to be sober-minded.” Supreme Court blocks reinstatement of fired federal workers for now In the United States, the Supreme Court on Tuesday blocked an order that the Trump administration rehire 16,000 federal employees who were let go in mass firings aimed at dramatically downsizing the federal government, reports The Associated Press. The justices acted in the administration's emergency appeal of a ruling by a federal judge in California ordering that the probationary employees at six federal agencies be reinstated while a lawsuit plays out because their firings didn't follow federal law. Appearing on NBC News, legal analyst Danny Cevallos spoke to the practical fallout of the Supreme Court decision on the 16,000 federal workers who were let go. CEVALLOS: “When it comes to these probationary workers, functionally, if they're not being reinstated for a certain period of time, they're going to go find other work. So, this is one of those situations where a stay in this case may eventually lead to them just going off and getting other jobs, and they may never return, even if they someday are entitled to return.” President Trump boosts coal production President Donald Trump signed an executive order yesterday to boost coal  as an energy source. The order allows some older coal-fired power plants to stay online instead of being retired. This comes as data centers, artificial intelligence, and electric cars increase the demand for electricity in the U.S. The order also removes some restrictions on coal mining and encourages coal leasing on U.S. lands. Georgia passed Religious Freedom Restoration Act Last Friday, Georgia became the 30th state to enact a Religious Freedom Restoration Act. The act protects people from unjust government punishment for living out their faith. Greg Chafuen with Alliance Defending Freedom said, “Our laws should protect the freedom of every person to live and worship according to their faith. This law provides a sensible balancing test for courts to use when reviewing government policies that infringe upon the religious freedom rights of Georgians.” IRS ends investigation into church praying for school board candidate First Liberty Institute announced Monday that the Internal Revenue Service ended its investigation of a church in Florida recently. New Way Church in Palm Coast, Florida came under investigation after praying for a local school board candidate during a service last year. Jeremy Dys with First Liberty Institute said, “We are pleased that the IRS not only closed its investigation, but affirmed that this church's activities of praying for political candidates during its church service do not threaten its tax-exempt status.” Planned Parenthood closes 3 Michigan abortion mills Planned Parenthood of Michigan announced last Wednesday that it will close three locations in the state. Appearing on Fox 2 in Detroit, Michigan Planned Parenthood President Paula Greear was upset. GREEAR: “A lot of people have reached out to me, and they are angry and they are hurt. And you know what? We are too!” The abortion group blamed funding cuts by the Trump administration.  GREEAR: “They are trying to do everything to defund Planned Parenthood.” Young pro-lifers have been praying outside one of the abortion mills for years. Kevin Weed, the headmaster for St. Michael High School in Petoskey, Michigan, told CatholicVote, “Many people are attributing the closing to the Trump administration's cutting of funds, which I'm sure makes a big difference. Our students have been praying there, and those prayers have been answered. However that came to be, we're just happy that this facility is closed.” Space flight around Earth's poles And finally, a cryptocurrency billionaire and his crew of three people completed the first space flight around the Earth's poles last week. Chun Wang is a Chinese-born investor of Malta, the island country located in the Mediterranean Sea between Sicily and North Africa. The bitcoin billionaire funded the mission aboard a SpaceX Crew Dragon capsule.  The crew launched last Monday and returned Friday. Together, they accomplished the first crewed orbit over the north and south poles. Before the launch, Chun said, “My own journey has been shaped by lifelong curiosity and a fascination with pushing boundaries. As a kid, I used to stare at a blank white space at the bottom of a world map and wonder what's out there. … We hope our mission will further inspire later people to do the same.” Psalm 19:1 says, “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork.” Close And that's The Worldview on this Wednesday, April 9th, in the year of our Lord 2025. Subscribe for free  by Amazon Music or by iTunes or email to our unique Christian newscast at www.TheWorldview.com. Or get the Generations app through Google Play or The App Store. I'm Adam McManus (Adam@TheWorldview.com). Seize the day for Jesus Christ.

Join us as we dive deep into the world of Petoskey Stones, Michigan's state fossil!

It's all about Michigan beer on this episode of Behind the Mitten, with guests both old and new joining us to talk about what's happening at our breweries and beyond. We start off interviewing one of the most exciting and prolific women in the Michigan craft beer scene, the always interesting Annette May. She holds many titles, but she might be most proud of having achieved certified Advanced Cicerone status, a pretty cool thing and not easy to do. She is also an instructor at Schoolcraft College in their brewing program, and one of the founding members of the women's craft beverage collective Fermenta, which is a 501 (c)(3) non-profit trade group initiated by women, committed to education, networking, diversity, and empowerment within the fermented beverage and food industries. She and her husband Mike Bardallis are working towards opening their own brewery, Full Measure Brewing Company, in Detroit's Eastern Market soon.One of our regular guests, David "Rings" Ringler stops by to catch us up on what is happening at his two German-inspired breweries located in West Michigan. Cedar Springs Brewing Company is where you'll find two sides to both the food and beer menus, both American and German. Indulge in traditional dishes like jagerschnitzel and spatzle, or pub-favorites like house-smoked pulled pork. You'll find the same beers here that you'll see at Kusterer Brauhaus on the West Side of Grand Rapids. Here, you'll find a tradtional German beer hall, with snacks and soccer to enjoy. We love his traditional style beers, including the always lovely Marzen. Now my mouth is watering.Pigeon Hill Brewing Company in Muskegon just celebrated their ten year anniversary in 2024, and co-owner Michael Brower stops by to share some of their recent developments. The brewery now has two locations you can visit, the Brewer's Lounge taproom located on 4th Street right downtown, and the new Socibowl by Pigeon Hill. Socibowl is an entertainment complex right downtown that features duckpin bowling, darts, pinball, oversized yard games, food, and of course, plenty of great craft beer. Michael shares some new and old favorite beers from Pigeon Hill, which you can find in distribution throughout the state.We are always excited when we get to meet new friends, and the owners of Elder Piper Beer and Cider did not disappoint. Trace and Eeva Redmond opened their Petoskey brewery in 2023, and were quickly named a "brewery to watch" by a national publication. The Redmonds bring years of top-level brewing experience with them, both here in Michigan and nationwide. When it came time to open their very own brewery, they decided to head back to Eeva's hometown, where they have been met with open arms. The Redmond's picked their Beach Grass Helles Lager as our selection for BEER OF THE WEEK this show.

We were joined by Fed Federov, who runs the Petoskey Ice Arena. He talked about how he ended up in Petoskey, told us all the different programs he offers there, updated us on his brother Sergei, and more. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

We were joined by Petoskey Northmen Head Hockey Coach Guiney. He and Huge talked about playoff hockey, talked about some of the players on his team that have really stepped up, impact of the Petoskey Ice Arena in Northern Michigan, growth of their programs, and much more.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In our second hour, we were joined by Ferris State Hockey's Head Coach Bob Daniels. Their team is on the way up to take on Michigan Tech this Friday. He and Huge talked about the Four Nations Face-Off, Coach talked about this being his final season as Head Coach, discussed how the season is going for his team, talked about the transfer portal and NIL, and much more. We continued the Hockey conversation as Nick Cotsonika from NHL.com joined us. He and Huge talked about tomorrow night's match-up between the U.S. and Canada tomorrow, gave their thoughts on how the Red Wings have looked, and more. We were then joined by Fed Federov, who runs the Petoskey Ice Arena. He talked about how he ended up in Petoskey, told us all the different programs he offers there, updated us on his brother Sergei, and more.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Today we're broadcasting live from the Petoskey Ice Arena with our affiliates WMBN 104.7fm & 1340am. Throughout the show, we talked about Michigan and Michigan State Basketball, the Red Wings, Ferris State Hockey, Petoskey Hockey, and more as we were joined by some of our great guests. We kicked off the show talking about MSU's win over Purdue as Jim Comparoni from SpartanMag.com joined us. He and Huge talked about some of the guys that made a big impact last night, they looked ahead to Friday's game against Michigan, and more. We were then joined by Steve Goff from the Lansing Sports Network. He talked about what it was like inside the Breslin last night, gave his thoughts on how Friday's game goes, and more. We were then joined by Petoskey Northmen Head Hockey Coach Guiney. He and Huge talked about playoff hockey, talked about some of the players on his team that have really stepped up, impact of the Petoskey Ice Arena in Northern Michigan, growth of their programs, and much more. In our second hour, we were joined by Ferris State Hockey's Head Coach Bob Daniels. Their team is on the way up to take on Michigan Tech this Friday. He and Huge talked about the Four Nations Face-Off, Coach talked about this being his final season as Head Coach, discussed how the season is going for his team, talked about the transfer portal and NIL, and much more. We continued the Hockey conversation as Nick Cotsonika from NHL.com joined us. He and Huge talked about tomorrow night's match-up between the U.S. and Canada tomorrow, gave their thoughts on how the Red Wings have looked, and more. We were then joined by Fed Federov, who runs the Petoskey Ice Arena. He talked about how he ended up in Petoskey, told us all the different programs he offers there, updated us on his brother Sergei, and more. In our final hour, we were joined by David Gregory who is a Lawyer and NFLPA Certified Sports Agent for Bullrush Sports. During that time, he and Huge talked about where the NCAA vs. the House case is currently at, talked about how things will legally be enforced, and much more. We were then joined by Ken Kal, who is the voice of the Red Wings. He and Huge talked about the Four Nations Face-Off, talked about the Wings getting back in action this weekend, and gave their thoughts on if the Wings can get a Stanley Cup this season. We wrapped up the show talking with Dean Davenport, who used to be the AD at Ferris State. He talked with Bill about some of the people he hired back when he was AD, talked about his passion for Ferris State Athletics, and more. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Today we're broadcasting live from Brown Motors in Petoskey with our affiliates WMBN 104.7fm & 1340am. Throughout the show, we talked Michigan and Michigan State Basketball as we were joined by some of our great College Basketball insiders. We kicked off the show talking with former Spartan Drew Neitzel about this year's MSU squad. They talked about what's different with this year's team, they previewed tonight's big game against Purdue, looked ahead to Friday's game against Michigan, and more. We were then joined by Tim McCormick from FDTV so we could get his thought's on tonight's MSU/Purdue game. He and Huge also talked about how Michigan has been playing, and gave their thoughts on how Friday's rivalry game goes. We wrapped up the hour talking with "Mo' Money Maurice" from Brown Motors. He talked about the easy process of selling your used car, and more.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Today we're broadcasting live from Brown Motors in Petoskey with our affiliates WMBN 104.7fm & 1340am. Throughout the show, we talked Michigan and Michigan State Basketball as we were joined by some of our great College Basketball insiders. We kicked off the show talking with former Spartan Drew Neitzel about this year's MSU squad. They talked about what's different with this year's team, they previewed tonight's big game against Purdue, looked ahead to Friday's game against Michigan, and more. We were then joined by Tim McCormick from FDTV so we could get his thought's on tonight's MSU/Purdue game. He and Huge also talked about how Michigan has been playing, and gave their thoughts on how Friday's rivalry game goes. We wrapped up the hour talking with "Mo' Money Maurice" from Brown Motors. He talked about the easy process of selling your used car, and more. In our second hour, we were joined by Matt Steigenga, who is one of the voices of Spartan Basketball. He and Huge talked about how this season has gone for Izzo and his squad, gave their thoughts on how tonight's game goes against Purdue, and more. We were then joined by Terry Mills, who is one of the voices of Michigan Basketball. He and Huge talked about how year one is going for Dusty May, talked about the athleticism on this Michigan team, looked ahead to Friday's game against MSU, and more. We wrapped up the hour with Steve Goff from the Lansing Sports Network. He gave us his thought's on how tonight's MSU/Purdue game goes. In our final hour, we were joined by former Michigan Basketball Head Coach John Beilein and Josh Garvey from Doeren Mayhew for our weekly "Talking Hoops" segment. Huge, John, and Josh talked about the last few games for both Michigan and Michigan State, they gave their thoughts on how tonight's MSU Purdue game goes, looked ahead to Friday's rivalry game, and more. We were then joined by Graham Couch from the Lansing State Journal. He gave us his thoughts on how tonight's MSU/Purdue game goes.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

"God is just so kind. He's so patient. His heart is for his people. So in the midst of loss and grief—which he himself has experienced—he wants to be near us, even if that means we're beating our fists on his chest."— Phylicia MasonheimerToday's Episode: How do we navigate grief and loss? How do we find comfort and experience peace in difficult seasons? That's what Natalie is discussing with today's guest, Phylicia Masonheimer. Phylicia tells the story of 2024—one of the hardest years of her life. She walks us through how she dealt with her raw emotions, how she relied on Scripture and prayer for help and healing, and how she experienced God's compassion through visible expressions of his grace to her and her family. It's such a beautiful and compelling story. May it encourage your heart.    This month's memory verse: "Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." — Lamentations 3:22-23 Today's guest: Phylicia Masonheimer is founder of Every Woman a Theologian, an online ministry teaching Christians how to know what they believe, live it boldly, and communicate it graciously. She is an author, blogger and host of the chart-topping podcast, Verity with Phylicia Masonheimer. Phylicia and her husband Josh live in Petoskey, MI with their three children Adeline, Geneva, and Ivan.Support Our Show: Leave a review to encourage us and help other people find our show.Links from today's show: Find out more about Phylicia's ministry, Every Woman a Theologian.Memorize and meditate on God's Word with a Dwell Differently membership. Dig even deeper into God's Word (and memorize it!) in Natalie and Vera's new Bible study, Dwell on These Things and book, Dwell Differently. Support the showFollow Natalie & Vera at DwellDifferently.com and @dwelldifferenly.

Vic Verchereau welcomes Emily Emmott, who is the General Manager of Hotel Walloon. Enjoy the charm and hospitality of the early twentieth century along with the comforts of every modern amenity. Located in Northern Michigan, Hotel Walloon is settled against the breathtaking backdrop of Walloon Lake. This privately owned boutique hotel features spacious guest rooms, elegant design, rich history, and world-class service. Explore the beauty of Michigan from this central location. Travel from Walloon Lake Village to Petoskey, Boyne City, Harbor Springs, Mackinac Island, and Traverse City. Your Trip ambassador Vic Verchereau welcomes Emily Emmott, the General Manager of Hotel Walloon and shares the details of this special spot in the world on this edition of Michigan Corners. Listen in as you pack your bags! » Visit MBN website: www.michiganbusinessnetwork.com/ » Subscribe to MBN's YouTube: www.youtube.com/@MichiganbusinessnetworkMBN » Like MBN: www.facebook.com/mibiznetwork » Follow MBN: twitter.com/MIBizNetwork/ » MBN Instagram: www.instagram.com/mibiznetwork/

Join Chaad and Matt as they chat with this diverse and savvy panel of guests representing the three main corners of the MI wine scene.Jamel Favorite is the Marketing Manager (and so much more!) at Modales Winery out in Fennville and makes his home in Grand Rapids. He co-hosts the Music In The Bottle podcast.Caroline Lamb is a Detroit based marketing specialist with wine distributor AHD Vinters and is also a podcaster, co-hosting the Business Of Drinks podcast.Tim Tebeau comes downstate from Petoskey, where he's the midwest sales manager for packaging supplier Saxco, a major international supplier of wine bottles.Witty and charming, these folks made for a great show which we hope you enjoy listening to as much as we enjoyed making it!

Heidi Kleinsmith Salter, CS, from Petoskey, Michigan, USAHear more from Heidi on this week's episode of Sentinel Watch.

Jeffrey Mosher welcomes back Payton Heins, NLEA, Northern Lakes Economic Alliance, Boyne City, MI. There were several things he wanted to find out in this conversation: Welcome back Payton, remind the Michigan business community about the NLEA? You have a 2024 Regional Small Business Outlook at the end of next week, tell us about that? Who and what organizations are involved? Who should attend? Do you see this event as a good opportunity on the opposite end of the calendar, from your Annual Symposium in May? Regional Small Business Outlook Panelists Announced The NLEA is excited to cohost a Regional Small Business Outlook event with Charlevoix Area Chamber of Commerce and Petoskey Regional Chamber of Commerce, taking place on November 8th at Gypsy Distillery. Event panelists represent diverse industries throughout Northern Michigan, and will provide beneficial insights on current market trends, challenges and opportunities in our region, a Q+A session, and more! This event is made possible thanks to the generous support of Huntington National Bank. Moderator: Chris Holman is the founder and CEO of Michigan Business Network (MBN). He has over 40 years of experience as a successful entrepreneur. Founded in 2011, MBN is an information provider seeking to help grow and develop Michigan's economic community. MBN covers an array of topics, such as finance, entrepreneurship, politics, leadership, business events, and more. Visit MBN's website to learn more. Panelists: Hauke Havenstein is the Plant Manager at Moeller Aerospace Harbor Springs. He has over 27 years of experience in the industry, and currently oversees profit and loss, operational excellence, and overall plant performance for Moeller. Prior to this position, he spent 16 years at Lufthansa Technik in Germany. Hauke also holds degrees in Business Management and Administration and Aerospace Technologies. Bill Marshall is the Vice President and Regional Banking Relationship Manager Sr. at Huntington National Bank. He has over 19 years of experience in the banking industry in Northern Michigan. Bill previously served in the Navy and graduated with an MBA focused in Finance & Engineering from Central Michigan University. He currently sits on the Board of Directors for the NLEA and is the treasurer of First Tee of Northern Michigan. Jennifer Haf is the founder of BLOOM Floral Design in Charlevoix, MI. In response to her love for sharing cut garden flowers from her backyard, she founded BLOOM in 2008. Jennifer has studied under some of the most celebrated designers in the floral industry and has operated her own business for over 16 years. Brian Bates is the owner of Bear Creek Organic Farm in Petoskey, MI. Bear Creek has grown from a start-up to a productive farm with 20+ employees in the last 10 years, and is the first B Corp Certified farm in the state of Michigan. Brian is passionate about organic farming, making a living doing what you love, and putting purpose front and center. Jake Huntman is the Director of Sales at Preston Feather Building Centers. Preston Feather is a leading supplier to homebuilders in Northwest Michigan. In his current role, Jake leads the sales teams across all product categories, collaborates with supply chain operations to align company strategy, and focuses on creating a positive customer experience. After serving in the United States Navy, Jake moved to Petoskey from South Bend, Indiana. Friday, November 8th | 11:00am to 12:30pm Gypsy Distillery, Petoskey, MI Join us to hear from business leaders representing diverse Northern Michigan industries to share their outlook on both opportunities and challenges in the year ahead. Click the link below to register! » Visit MBN website: www.michiganbusinessnetwork.com/ » Watch MBN's YouTube: www.youtube.com/@MichiganbusinessnetworkMBN » Like MBN: www.facebook.com/mibiznetwork » Follow MBN: twitter.com/MIBizNetwork/ » MBN Instagram: www.instagram.com/mibiznetwork/

We have a new partner! Petoskey's is the official hockey bar of Sound Of Hockey! We've loved that bar for years, and we're excited to have them as an official partner of SOH. On this episode, the guys break down the last week of play for the Kraken, including a monster 8-2 win at the Montreal Canadiens on Tuesday. Plus, some discussion about Joey Daccord suddenly getting more starts than Philipp Grubauer, and much more. Segments include Goalie Gear Corner, Weekly One-Timers, and What's Good? SUBSCRIBE! ENJOY! REVIEW!

Steve Swart was on the bandstand and in college at CMU just in time to see owner Harvey Vanier turn The Foolery into Rubbles. Mt. Pleasant has always been at the dead center of the state of Michigan when it comes to cross-over touring due to WCMU and the college music market. One quick look north from Kalamazoo, Ann Arbor, Detroit and Lansing, all eyes hit the college town. The blended artistry from roots folk, to deep blues, power pop, metal, and first generation punk all huddled in this marketplace, long after the '60s Flint scene dispersed.     Yes, you could see Texas blues man Gatemouth Brown, followed by funky rockin' Fishbone, and then a tour stop for the punk legends Dead Milkmen. Or how about Blues Brother Matt 'Guitar' Murphy? Verve Pipe? Etc...this was a Michigan hub town thanks to the venues, Theatres, and WCMU radio.    While Swart notes that much remains in historical value, the word-of-mouth of the area's scene is more of a recollection and myth, than the hub it once was. North of Mt. Pleasant lies Interlochen, which seems to have taken on the persona that Mt. Pleasant used to be known for. A quick look at Traverse City, Petoskey, Alpena, or over west to Big Rapids or Grand Rapids, or even east to the Tri-Cities and you can see speckles of the majestic college town scene. Swart is taking the Mt. Pleasant music history seriously and is not only documenting it, but releasing lost shows on YouTube. Steve has compiled a fantastic episode that not only covers his music, but some of his rock/metal expeditions (magnetite)--which is not rock/metal like you think ;) Tune in and check this out too! Here is his Link List for this episode: "Legacy of Harvey's Foolery":  https://www.facebook.com/groups/38403127560/ Youtube Playlist Legacy of Harvey's Foolery https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLxX1AiehvuPKAgF_VtCwzWJ6iclZIJRY1 Clarke Historical Library website at CMU: http://www.clarkehistoricallibrary.org/p/about-us.html?m=0   Michigan bands that we hosted and recorded in concert at The Broadway Theatre in Mt Pleasant: Steppin' In It Levi Rose and Hooker Man Mollie O'Brien and Jive at Five Alma College Percussion and Drum Ensemble Jeff Haas Quintet with Marcus Belgrave THOSE Delta Rhythm Kings (Lansing area) Earl Haynes and Friends (subject of the song "Mr Easy" ala Walmsley/McCray) Brian Koehler Chris Freeman (Sitar) Myk Rise Hurry The Jug YouTube Playlist - Live at The Broadway 2003-2005:  https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLxX1AiehvuPJkLJDeREK10heB0qEAfT3o

Send us a textWhat happens when a city steeped in history meets the thrill of a modern-day cycling adventure? Welcome back for part two of our Shoreline Recap, where we begin with a touching conversation about Michael's daughter Miya and her exciting move to eighth grade. Then, prepare to be fascinated as we journey to Beltsville, Maryland, uncovering its historical roots and even a bit of cryptid lore that's sure to pique your curiosity.You'll find yourself laughing out loud as we recount a hilarious shopping escapade in Mackinac City. Picture this: a ceramic ornament, a store clerk with a sense of humor, and a playful prank at a fudge shop involving Jess. As we navigate scenic cycling routes from Mackinac City to Charlevoix, you'll feel like you're right there with us, taking in the breathtaking Tunnel of Trees and charming towns like Elk Rapids and Petoskey.The episode takes a reflective turn as we offer candid feedback on the Shoreline cycling event, from weather challenges to logistical insights, all while commending the efforts of the event's director, Neal. We round things out with a sneak peek into future episodes, exciting non-cycling hangout plans, and heartfelt listener spotlights. Whether you're here for the personal anecdotes, historical insights, or constructive feedback, this episode promises an engaging mix that keeps the spirit of adventure alive. We will be back Support the Show.Embarking on a journey of camaraderie that spans years, Adam and Michael have cultivated a deep friendship rooted in their mutual passion for cycling. Through the twists and turns of life, these two friends have pedaled side by side, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and good-natured teasing that only solidifies the authenticity of their bond. Their cycling escapades, filled with laughter and banter, are a testament to the enduring spirit of true friendship. Whether conquering challenging trails or coasting through scenic routes, Adam and Michael's adventures on two wheels are a testament to the joy found in the simple pleasures of life. If you're on the lookout for a podcast that captures the essence of friendship and the thrill of cycling, look no further. Join them on this audio journey, where they not only share captivating stories but also invite you to be a part of their cycling community. Get ready for a blend of fun tales, insightful discussions, and a genuine celebration of the joy that comes from embracing the open road on two wheels. This podcast is your ticket to an immersive and uplifting cycling-centric experience. and Remember,It's a Great Day for a Bike Ride!https://www.facebook.com/cyclingmenofleisurehttps://cyclingmenofleisure.com/http...

On this week’s episode of The RV Atlas podcast we are welcoming guest correspondents Dan and Jess Steck for a terrific review of Jellystone Park Petoskey in Michigan. The Stecks […] The post Campground Review! Jellystone Park in Petoskey, Michigan appeared first on The RV Atlas.

The guys talk about what payday used to mean and Justin reads a letter left on Corey's car.

LFTR Episode 71 - We're nearing the end of our Summer of Song and wondering What's Next? We discuss our week in 3 different Michigan State Parks including beach days and family bike rides.Highlights include:* An interesting bike path detour in Traverse City* A campsite by a rocky beach with fossils in Petoskey* Beach Party in Holland* Hiking through woods and over sand dunes in Warren Dunes* We can't really know what's next… and that's probably good* Biden is stepping aside and Harris feels… hopeful* We're not preppers, but we're prepared (to go survive in the woods)* Have a plan, but plan to change your plan* Stories and morbidityLinks:* Traverse City State Park* Stonehound Brewing* Petoskey State Park* The Backlot Petoskey* Tap 30 Pourhouse* Holland State Park Beach Campground* Warren Dunes State ParkThanks for listening! As always you can find LFTR at http://lettersfromtheroadpod.com, and you can email us at lettersfromtheroadpod@gmail.com.Find LFTR Diaries on the LFTR YouTube channel.Find us on socials @lettersfromtheroadpod!If you feel like kicking us a few bucks because you like what we do you can Become a PenPal and chat with us and others in the PenPals Discord. Get full access to Letters From the Road at lettersfromtheroad.substack.com/subscribe

Nearly six months after the Michigan Legislature repealed Right to Work laws, more groups of workers are taking action against what they say are coercive measures of some unions to collect fees. Mechanics from Brown Motors in Petoskey and drivers from MV Transportation in Ypsilanti successfully voted recently to remove their union officials' powers to collect union dues from nonunion members. The Brown Motors mechanics voted by 75% against the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, National Right to Work Foundation Legal Defense Foundation said. The Teamsters also faces a new lawsuit filed by nurses at Ascension Genesys Hospital in Grand Blanc Township, who say union bosses threatened to fire them if they didn't pay union fees.Support this podcast: https://secure.anedot.com/franklin-news-foundation/ce052532-b1e4-41c4-945c-d7ce2f52c38a?source_code=xxxxxxFull story: https://www.thecentersquare.com/michigan/article_56611d58-45ec-11ef-8e72-233cf799e918.html

It's a classic question asked first in a novel, then in music, and often as a half-joke pop culture reference: Can you go home again? People change over time, but of course, places do, too. What we've previously experienced in our hometowns and where we grew up can feel distant for a very good reason. Time and experience changes us all, whether we like it or not. But in this episode, we're going to explore what it means to lean into this question and ask instead, “what does it feel like to be home, again?” Working through this with me is Trace and Eeva Redmond, a couple who in recent years took years of experience working in beer and returned to Eeva's home town of Petoskey, Michigan where they've opened Elder Piper, a brewery and cidery located along the shores of Little Traverse Bay on the upper portion of the state's mitten shape. As brewer, Trace brings brewing experience that includes stops at Michigan's Founders and Roak Brewing, as well as North Carolina's Highland Brewing. Eeva has worked in a collection of hospitality and communication roles in beer as well, including positions at Roak Brewing, Sierra Nevada, and Highland. Why open a brewery now, at a time when we hear about so many closing? That's where we start our conversation, but it leads us to many other ideas and reflections about what it means to start a business in a city of 6,000, especially when it's the place where you grew up. As you'll hear, community connection has been pivotal to Eeva and Trace, and their story offers something of a roadmap of what it takes to launch a new, neighborhood-focused brewery in today's market.  

In this episode, Reg Smith, part of a family that has defined the hospitality experience in northern Michigan through their hotels and restaurants, shares the story of his family's legacy and the lessons they've learned in stewarding it while staying personally engaged in the work of hospitality.The origins of Stafford's Bay View Inn and the early days of the family business (01:13)What a Chautauqua community is and its significance in northern Michigan (02:45)The story of how Reg's parents met and started their journey in the hospitality industry (05:45)Reg's earliest memories of growing up in the hospitality business and the family involvement (12:09)Lessons learned from his parents about service and running a dining room (15:52)The challenges and rewards of working in hospitality, especially during holidays (20:03)The importance of community involvement and the impact of their business on downtown Petoskey (44:05)The role of family in the business and how Reg's children are involved (34:45)The cultural and operational lessons Reg learned from working outside northern Michigan (25:00)The significance of hiring and training staff with a natural inclination for service (28:51)The inclusive nature of northern Michigan hospitality and its impact on guests from all walks of life (48:43) New to Hospitality Daily? Start here. Want to get my summary and actionable insights from each episode delivered to your inbox each day? Subscribe here for free.Follow Hospitality Daily and join the conversation on YouTube, LinkedIn, and Instagram.Music by Clay Bassford of Bespoke Sound: Music Identity Design for Hospitality Brands

Fr. Scott continues his discussion with Kevin Weed & Larry Rudnicki of St. Michael High School in Petoskey, MI.https://archive.org/download/LetsTalkCatholic/LTC-143RR-StMichaelAcademy-Pt2.mp3

 Kevin Weed was recently named the new headmaster and Larry Rudnicki named the new Executive Director of St. Michael High School, a Chesterton Academy School located near Petoskey, Michigan. Tune in this week and next to hear more about the vision for this high school in the Catholic tradition as it moves into its 13th year.https://archive.org/download/LetsTalkCatholic/LTC-142RR-StMichaelAcademy-Pt1.mp3

One of the reasons I'm standing here tonight, beyond Craig being ill, is because today is May 29th. Twenty-two years ago at 7:18 Eastern Daylight Time, we were sitting in Trinity Missionary Church in Petoskey, Michigan, having just gotten the call. About 12 hours before that, our son had died. Craig wanted me to talk a little bit about that, this being the anniversary. I want to talk about three things related to this: prayer, providence, and comfort.

I'm not a financial advisor; Superpowers for Good should not be considered investment advice. Seek counsel before making investment decisions.Watch the show on television by downloading the e360tv channel app to your Roku, AppleTV or AmazonFireTV. You can also see it on YouTube.When you purchase an item, launch a campaign or invest after clicking a link here, we may earn a commission. Engage to support our work.In today's episode of "Superpowers for Good," I had the pleasure of hosting Chris Miller, Founding Board Member and Chair of the National Coalition for Community Capital. We delved into an exciting discussion about diversified community investment funds, a vital tool for anyone interested in building vibrant, resilient communities.Chris eloquently introduced us to the concept and evolution of these funds, explaining their transformation from a theoretical concept to a practical solution energized by investment crowdfunding. As Chris noted, these funds are about harnessing local capital to solve local problems effectively, and he shared how these funds enable regular people to invest in the well-being of their communities.“The background is that there's been a fleeing of the idea that capital is controlled locally to it now being controlled by a very small number of people who don't live in your community,” Chris explained. He passionately argued for the return of local capital control, which investment crowdfunding facilitates, allowing community members to contribute to local businesses and projects.Moreover, Chris highlighted the dual focus of these funds on real estate and community businesses, emphasizing that while 60% of investments must be in real estate, the remaining can flexibly support local enterprises. This structure not only addresses urgent needs like housing but also bolsters local businesses, crucial for community vibrancy.One of the most compelling parts of our conversation was when Chris discussed the potential of these funds to make significant, tangible impacts: “Even a few million dollars here or there, you're talking real money, right?” This statement highlights the practical benefits and real-world applications of community investment funds, highlighting their role in revitalizing and transforming communities.As we wrapped up, Chris's enthusiasm was palpable. He shared his excitement about upcoming projects in Detroit and Cincinnati, where these funds are set to make a substantial impact. It's clear from our conversation that diversified community investment funds not only offer a promising avenue for economic development and community resilience but also represent a profound shift towards more equitable and locally-focused investment strategies.For anyone interested in sustainable community development and economic resilience, this episode is a treasure trove of insights and actionable ideas, all thanks to Chris's deep expertise and commitment to community capital.AI Episode Summary1. The episode features Devin Thorpe hosting Chris Miller from the National Coalition for Community Capital, focusing on diversified community investment funds, a key tool for community builders.2. Chris Miller describes his dual role working for a leading observatory telescope manufacturer and dedicating half his week to advancing community capital with NC3, a movement borne from economic development challenges in Michigan during the Great Recession.3. Miller discusses the initial logical and philosophical discussions around investment crowdfunding at NC3's inception, highlighting its importance in enabling non-accredited investors to invest locally and contribute to community well-being.4. The episode explores the limitations of charitable loan funds in community investment, pointing out their restrictions on investment returns and their charitable purpose constraints, which make them unsuitable for broader community wealth-building efforts.5. Diversified community investment funds are introduced as a solution that allows for pooled resources to be reinvested locally, with a primary focus on real estate investments and the flexibility to support various local businesses and projects.6. The structure and legal underpinnings of creating such funds are elaborated, with an emphasis on staying compliant with the Investment Company Act of 1940 by primarily investing in real estate while also supporting other community ventures.7. Chris Miller shares examples of piloted funds in Detroit and Cincinnati, aiming to rejuvenate neighborhoods through coordinated efforts involving local nonprofits, faith-based institutions, and innovative building projects to stimulate economic and community development.8. The conversation addresses the process of raising capital under regulation crowdfunding for these funds, detailing the strategic use of exemptions under the Investment Company Act that allow for raising money from non-accredited investors.9. Upcoming engagements and opportunities to learn more about diversified community investment funds are mentioned, including Chris Miller's speaking event at SuperCrowdChicago and other informational resources available through NC3.10. The episode wraps up with a discussion on the potential impact of these investment funds on community revitalization, wealth building, and the importance of capital recirculation within local economies for sustainable development.Guest ProfileChris Miller (he/him):Founding Board Member and Chair, National Coalition for Community CapitalAbout National Coalition for Community Capital: NC3 works to advance the Community Capital movement. This engagement of regular (retail) investors into businesses and projects in their own communities empowers citizens while it builds financial resilience and wealth for individuals and communities.Website: NC3now.orgLinkedin: linkedin.com/company/nc3now/Biographical Information: Chris MillerBoard Chair/Founding Member, National Coalition for Community Capital (NC3)Chris Miller is chair and one of the founding board members of the National Coalition for Community Capital, a 501c3.  Among NC3's goals are to empower ordinary citizens and strengthen local economies though community investment and ownership, with particular attention to wealth-building by non-accredited investors and to underserved populations and communities.Chris has been working on community, economic, and entrepreneur development in Michigan for nearly 20 years in a variety of roles, including as an appointed and elected city official, as a board member and frequent chair of a variety of community and economic development organizations, as a partner with student teams from the University of Michigan and Michigan State University,  as an Innovation Fellow at the Michigan State University EDA Center for Regional and Economic Innovation, and as the City of Adrian's economic developer. During that time, in addition to securing millions of grant dollars and matching private investments, he also developed a local investor group, led a community business plan competition, and worked with local schools to implement entrepreneurship education. While working his day job in Adrian, he also introduced and championed Michigan's MILE – an investment crowdfunding exemption that served as a national model, and he currently has introduced legislation that would create a first-in-the-nation investment incentive available to any state resident regardless of wealth.During 2023, Chris worked extensively on a new program the International Economic Development Council developed called the Economic Recovery Corps. Funded with Cares Act dollars from the Economic Development Administration, 65 ERC Fellows were awarded to 65 hosts from across the county. The Fellows will work full time with their hosts for 2.5 years addressing underserved communities in a variety of economic and community development projects. NC3 was awarded a Fellow to work in Michigan in the start-up and incubator space, adding community investors to capital required by new or expanding businesses.Over the past decade, Chris has spoken across the country on the promise and future of community capital, while also working on the ground on donation and investment crowdfunding campaigns with communities and entrepreneurs. Chris is the developer and lead for NC3's Community Capital Accelerator which is now piloting NC3's Diversified Community Investment Fund in large projects in Detroit, Michigan and Cincinnati, Ohio, and expects to see the launch of funds in Rhode Island and Petoskey, Michigan in 2024.  In addition, the organization is working on projects in nearly a dozen states.  Today, Chris and his wife Joyce own and live in a 170-year-old downtown Adrian building where they renovated the commercial floor for The Buzz Café and Marketplace.  Joyce and her business partners opened The Buzz during COVID, after an investment crowdfunding campaign that received investment from 45 investors in 7 different states.  When not working on their building renovation, Chris led the team that brought PlaneWave Instruments from California to Michigan and now serves as their Special Projects Consultant.  In that role, Chris serves as the primary community and education outreach lead, manages campus arts partners, and works with economic development organizations as well as State and Federal governments to secure resources for PlaneWave.  From their headquarters in Michigan, PlaneWave leads the world in the design and manufacture of high-tech observatory-class research telescopes.Linkedin: linkedin.com/in/christopher-miller-93391378/Upcoming SuperCrowd Event CalendarIf a location is not noted, the events below are virtual.* Impact Cherub Club Meeting hosted by The Super Crowd, Inc., a public benefit corporation, on May 21, 2024, at 1:00 PM Eastern. Each month, the Club meets to review new offerings for investment consideration and to conduct due diligence on previously screened deals. To join the Impact Cherub Club, you must first become an Impact Member of the SuperCrowd.* SuperCrowdHour, May 15, 2024, at 1:00 Eastern. Each month, we host a value-laden webinar for aspiring impact investors or social entrepreneurs. At this month's webinar, Bill Huston will share “Unleashing the Power of Crowdfunding for Affordable Housing.” Register here.* SuperCrowdChicago, June 12, 2024. This in-person event at Columbia College Chicago features some of Chicago's prominent citizens and community leaders, along with crowdfunding experts. Use the discount code “SuperCrowd” to save 30 percent!* Recently, we created an AI GPT to help you learn more about The Super Crowd, Inc., a public benefit corporation, and our upcoming events. Click here to try it.SuperCrowd Community Event Calendar* Successful Funding with Karl Dakin, Tuesdays at 10:00 AM ET * KingsCrowd's upcoming Demo Day, Thursday, May 16th at 12:00 am ET/9:00 am PT* Crowdfunding Professional Association Webinar, May 29, 2:00 PM ET* The Reg A & Crowdfunding Conference, June 20, Westchester Country Club (Save 20% with the code Super20)* Crowdfunding Professional Association, Summit in DC, October 22-23Click here to submit an event for us to share with the 4,500+ members of the SuperCrowd.We use AI to help us write compelling recaps of each episode. Get full access to Superpowers for Good at www.superpowers4good.com/subscribe

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Jenni Hebert, from Petoskey, Michigan, USA

Heidi Salter, CS, from Petoskey, Michigan, USA